#it would go something like “if any of you even had a sliver of decency you wouldn’t be shit talking my friend right in my front of my face”

[yaralulu]

I desperately need a scene where the IC are having dinner and the topic of tamlin gets brought up and they start talking shit about him and going on about how he deserves everything thats happening to him and lucien’s just sitting there gripping his fork,jaw twitching,eyes simmering,hands shaking with rage as he tries so hard to keep his mouth shut because now is not the time to say something stupid—but they just keep talking and talking and talking until eventually he has enough and gives everybody a vanserra style telling off 😁.

[lizardlicks]

a thing I noodled up based on @ablueeyedarcher's shifterverse AtLA AU setting. The only needed context is that Zuko's other side is a fire ferret, and Sokka's is a fucking huge wolf.

Ozai hasn't settled into his new.... living arrangements (temporary living arrangements, he keeps forcefully insisting in the privacy of his own mind) for very long. He can't sense the sun the way he used to, can't feel the crawl of time as measured by Agni's looping path, but there is at least enough light that falls through what passes as a window high up on the wall of his cell that he can make a close enough guess. His generous (traitorous) son had the decency to face a Child of Agni to the South. 

It's been a few days at least, maybe even a full week by his estimation, when he's jolted out of sleep by a distinct sound. Keys turning in the lock of his cell door. Ozai sits up, takes a moment to compose himself, smoothing down the plain prison robes he's been dumped into, then rises to meet his loyal subject.

"I was expecting you soon--" his greeting dies on his tongue. Ozai does not find Azula standing in the doorway. Neither is there a general, no dedicated council member or magistrate. Not even a lowly clerk. Instead he's surprised to find the Avatar's obnoxious Watertribe pet. He's leaning against the wall opposite the cell, the door of which stands wide open. The peasant casually flips the key around his fingers as he fixes Ozai with a cold, blank stare.

There's something in his other hand but Ozai can't tell what it is. Metal-- gold, twisted and misshapen. Ozai narrows his eyes. The Watertribe seems content to let him marinate in the uncertainty of their shared silence. Finally Ozai’s mounting intrigue gets the better of his judgment. 

“Did the Avatar send you to taunt me,” he asks.

"No." 

"My son?"

"No."

"Your chief, then."

"Just me.”

He's strangely reticent. A few days ago this boy wouldn't shut up the entire airship flight back to the Fire Nation capital. Now he stands and watches Ozai with an unnerving intensity. There's an open door and a wide gap of freedom between them. Ozai can see that the teen's leg is still well bandaged, though he's not aided by any crutch or cane at the moment. He could bolt and make a bid for freedom easily. This knowledge isn't comforting. Rather, it feels like a trap. He narrows his eyes at the boy and asks, "Why are you here?"

The watertribe answers him by throwing the scrap of metal down onto the floor between them. It lands in the sliver of morning light Agni has painted on the floor, and now Ozai can recognize it for what it is, despite its extremely crushed state: the animal cage that sat on his desk. It had sat on his desk for years and no one questioned it.

"Aang would be really sad if I culled you in your cage like you deserve, so I'm going to give you the fighting chance you never gave him. The way is clear. There's a weapon rack in the guard barracks." The Watertribe's lips peel back from his teeth in what could be called a smile if one was very generous and used the term loosely. Dawn light glints off his large, sharp eye teeth. Ozai feels fear hollowing out his stomach, and adrenaline hits his veins like ice water. "You have a twenty second head start. I suggest you run.”

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Drop, Part II

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: lady whump, guy whump, being threatened, being chased, injury, blood, self-blame/victim-blaming

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 5500 || Approx reading time: 22 mins

The Drop, Part II

Teaser: He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

Silence had never been his favourite thing. Quiet, sure, peace and calm and all that—good for when his mind filled up with too many thoughts that needed somewhere to explode out of in a mess but had nowhere to go, and the soft strum of midnight in the city or the song of wind and bird calls in the trees helped to soothe the storm.

Silence, though.

Silence filled up empty spaces in a bad way. And when his mind was reeling, silence crowded up against those thoughts—shoved them around and twisted them into something worse. Like a crack in the ice on a frozen pond, silence shattered beneath your feet and pulled you into darkness, screeching into your bones and spearing right through your heart and soul until all you could think of was how heavy the world actually was, no matter how damn hard you were trying to forget.

The townhouse was silent.

He’d known it would be, and yet the confirmation crunched and snapped inside him, anyway.

Must have been at least a week since they fucked off—no, longer. Dust coated the table in a way Spider would’ve never allowed; there were no boots by the door; there wasn’t a hint of heat in the fireplace. Just ice-cold ashes and a few charred chunks of wood.

Fox gripped tightly to the edge of the table, watching his hands paint streaks in the layer of dust. He’d known it would be cold and empty and silent.

It still hurt.

He stood, drowning, long enough that he forgot entirely how long he’d been standing there at all.

Dropping the message had been easy. Perfect. Smooth. Quick. And he should have gone back to the inn. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Temptation had won out, and here he was. Temptation had led him straight to heartache. Temptation had proved to him that, for the first time ever, really, he was alone.

Except that wasn’t truly true, was it?

He released his grip on the table and stared down at his dusty fingertips and smudged palms. Ignored the way his shoulder complained at how he’d stood with his muscles so tightly wound, rigidly enough to hurt, reminding him that it wasn’t fully healed yet. His hands twitched in memory of being held by smaller, daintier ones—hands that had not shied away from his when, inarguably, they should have stayed far, far away.

He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

His stomach turned. She’d been so eager to help him, to drop a message for the others, all for his sake. But she was alone out there. They’d argued about it—whether to stay together or split up. Logic had won out.

Logic was a huge bitch. He was the one who’d pushed for splitting up, and that goddamn logic felt like nothing more than a savage scam now.

Heaving a sigh, Fox looked around the empty room one last time. Nothing had changed. Still cold. Still silent.

Perhaps it was time for goodbye, then. If Wolf and Spider and Hare were really gone.

In the dust on the table, he began to scrawl. Just in case. Because maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope.

I’m alive.

Underneath, a series of letters.

W.

J.

C.

G.

He paused before the last one, but some compulsion drew his fingers through the dust again.

B.

***

The evening had turned unpleasantly cold—the kind of autumn night that smelled a bit like snow but didn’t have the decency to even spill any. Fox kicked at stones on the road as he walked, unable to shake a feeling of unease. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to the townhouse. It was probably a terrible move. And leaving that message? The damn initials? Stupid. Spider would fucking kill him if she saw it.

Or she’d be glad to find out he was alive.

He shook a few hairs out of his eyes, pissed off at how they tickled uncomfortably against his eyelashes. Damn hat, shoving his hair forward so it fell in the most annoying place.

God, what had he been thinking, going back there?

What if someone had seen him? What if constables were tearing the damn place apart right now?

He came to a stop and forced himself to take a breath. The thoughts were getting out of control.

“Sounds like we got a problem here, don’t it?”

Fox frowned at the rough voice sneering somewhere around a corner. It sounded vaguely familiar. Unpleasantly familiar.

It sounded like a guy he was pretty sure he didn’t like.

“You gotta know whose turf this is,” the voice drawled. Fox’s arms prickled beneath his coat. “And I never seen no pansy little shitheads like you around here before. ’Specially not a mouthy little bastard in a fancy-ass coat like that. So, where the hell’d you come from, fella?”

Oh, he did fucking know that voice. It belonged to a guy he’d once punched in the face (and who’d punched him back, but that was beside the point). A guy who needed another knock on the head, apparently, because what was that bullshit he was spewing aboutwhose turf this was?

It certainly wasn’t his.

This was IA territory, and no matter what his brother said about not starting shit with the other crews working the suckers in town who left their pockets unguarded, Fox was not about to let this asshole go around claiming that some other gang had somehow overtaken it.

As a high-pitched voice protested whatever that fucker was doing, Fox started forward, then paused.

His shoulder. It still ached. It probably wouldn’t take much to fuck it up again.

“Empty them nice pockets of yours, kid, and maybe we’ll let you pass through with a warning. Maybe.”

Keep walking. That was all he had to do.

“What are you doing?” their victim squeaked. “Just leave me—”

One of the nasty voices burst into a laugh, while the other said, “Fuck, what’s wrong with this guy?”

A cry that was more of a shriek.

And then—

“What the fuck?”

The cry rang in his ears, too loud and too familiar.

“Shit…” Even before the guy went on, Fox knew what he was about to say. “Shit. It’s a girl.”

He was around the corner before he’d even quite realized that he had started to move.

“Hey.”

There she was, flat against the wall where those two motherfuckers from—what were they called? Something stupid—something with an S. Stealthy…sneaky…sorry. Sorry Sixes. That’s who they ran for.

Two bastards from the Sorry Sixes had cornered her.

Those big brown eyes went straight to him, and he almost died, because she looked so scared.

But.

She also looked royally pissed.

It wasn’t like when she’d yelled at him to smarten up and stop being a vulgar, disrespectful prick while he was still in jail, or her frantic, furious tirade to Mrs. Bristow when she convinced her to let them go. It wasn’t like her trembly, worried sort of frustration from when they’d fought about splitting up to cover more ground. It wasn’t like the endless, exhausted annoyance that crossed her face every time she had to destroy another goddamn poster.

This was something new, like something had split inside her, like she had decided she was fucking sick of being pushed around.

“This little cross-dressing freak your woman?” asked the one with his knife at Bree’s throat. Blond haired, blue eyed, mean-looking as a feral dog. “Been acting all shady-like, sneaking around on Sorry Six streets. You oughta keep her a bit more under control.”

“Yeah, about that,” Fox said through gritted teeth, unable to identify which part of that little speech infuriated him the most.

“About what?” the other one asked, shaking greasy red curls away from his narrowed eyes. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“This ain’t your territory,” Fox said tightly, stepping a little closer. Bree’s eyes widened.

In a tiny, subtle movement, her gaze flicking to his bad shoulder, she shook her head. As if, somehow, after only knowing him for a few weeks, she knew exactly what he was about to get himself into. And what a terrible idea it was.

The Sixes snorted. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well, guess I gotta ask again,” the short one said. “Who the fuck are you?”

As Fox stepped into the gas light, the blond guy’s head tilted to the side. “Wait a minute. I know this ugly face.” He shoved Bree back against the wall—whether for dramatic effect or because she’d been trying to slip away, it was hard to tell. But she winced, and at his side, Fox’s hands clenched.

“Think I kicked your ass one time,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like it did much good. Need another go?”

“Fox,” Bree hissed.

“Oh, that’s it. Fox,” the big one mimicked. “IA, ain’t you? How’d you get outta jail? Heard you got busted like an idiot.” He grinned. “Your mug’s been all over this city. You better watch your step, or we gonna be reading a big, splashy headline ’bout you in a day or so.”

With a gruesome, taunting grimace, the ginger mimed getting hanged, tilting his head as if his neck had been snapped.

“Didn’t know you could read,” Fox said, as his blood ran hot. Bree closed her eyes.

The redhead guffawed. “Ha, ha. Hilarious, Dog Boy.”

“Dog Boy. Good one. You come up with that yourself?” He stepped a little closer; neither of them moved. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

“And if I don’t? What you gonna do about it? Your wimpy freak of a leader gonna come and wag his finger at me?” The fucker with the knife laughed. “Last I heard, IA’s dead. And…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he dragged that stare back over Bree’s face. “And they’re looking for both of you.”

Fox heard the words—heard the taunt, the refusal to leave Bree alone, and the pointed jab at his brother. They burst at him like sparks, dropping in painful pinpricks he could not ignore.

He was about to leap, bum shoulder be damned, when Bree kicked the guy holding her right in the goddamn jewels.

“Fucking shit!” Fox yelped as she tore away from the wall, gasping. “You gone crazy?”

“Maybe,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t fight. Let’s g—”

Rich of her, to tell him not to fight when she was the one who had just slammed her leg right into her attacker’s nuts.

And pretty optimistic, seeing as the short one was barrelling straight toward the both of them.

“Bree, get out of here.” Fox didn’t know if she would listen—had a bad feeling, after the assault she’d just launched on the asshole with the knife, that she would not—but the command tore out of him anyway, because neither of these fuckers was going to touch her again, not if he had anything to do with it. How had she even run into them, anyway? Her drop point was blocks away.

A story he could get out of her later, because right now there was an ass that needed kicking.

“You’re going to get h—” She squealed into silence as the blond guy recovered from his howls of pain, repositioned his knife, and shot forward.

“Ah, fuck!” The short one’s fist slammed into Fox’s shoulder just as Bree somehow did what he could not—sidestep her attacker. She still cried out, her voice mingling with his cursing as pain tore through his shoulder. “Bree, for fuck’s sake, just run! I can handle—”

Granted, he would handle it better if he weren’t so busy yelling at her to get lost. The ginger caught him with a knock on his jaw. No big deal. Nothing he couldn’t get back up from.

And he had to get back up from it, because the tall motherfucker with the knife was moving again.

“This ain’t IA territory no more,” the little one hissed. “Not since you landed your sorry ass in jail and the rest of your crew fucked off.”

Fox forgot that his shoulder and his jaw hurt, and he forgot he was being stupid. He sprang forward and knocked the goddamn asshole and his hideous, taunting mouth to the ground.

He shouldn’t have looked away from Bree, though.

The big guy caught hold of her hair, and she shrieked when he yanked her toward him and snarled, “Didn’t know IA had their hands on such cute little gals. ’Specially one who also got her face plastered on every damn wall in this town.”

She gasped and tilted her head back as he kept pulling on her hair. “What are you doing? Let me go, you disgusting, wicked, horrid—”

God, it would almost be sweet, watching her trying to throw out insults like that, if it weren’t so fucking horrifying.

The knife. Back at her throat.

No no no no no no no—

“Pretty little reward for the constable’s pretty little wife,” the blond one said, and as Fox struggled to figure out exactly how he was going to get both of them out of this mess, the other Six swept his feet from under him.

“And a reward for this asshole, too.” Black spots danced before Fox’s eyes as his bad arm was pressed into his back, followed by the other. “You just nothing but talk, eh? Dog Boy’s all bark and no bite.”

Fuck. Fuck.

In the distance, a whistle blasted through the air. Deep-throated shouts. Clicking, scraping footsteps.

“Would you look at that,” said the tall one smugly. “Coppers are nearby. Won’t they be surprised to see what we found?”

“You fucking idiots,” Fox snarled. “They could just arrest you both, too.”

With a growl, the red-haired one twisted his bad arm a little tighter. Fox gasped.

“C’mon, Mrs. Constable,” the big guy said, taking the knife from Bree’s neck for just long enough to pull her arms behind her, too, and shove her to her knees. “Ain’t you lucky? Gonna see your loony of a husband again.” He grinned at his friend. “And we’re gonna get an extra payday, huh?”

His friend cackled, and Fox found Bree’s gaze as they began to call into the night for the police to come running.

The freezing cobblestone underneath him should have been what chilled him to the bone. But what he saw in Bree’s eyes stabbed right into him like ice.

“I’m not going back,” she whispered. So quiet, he was almost only reading her lips. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m—”

“What’re you saying, missus?” The blond peered into her face. “I don’t like your husband much, neither, but I’ll sure take his money.”

“I said…” Bree glared up at him. “I said I’m not going back.”

Wetness gleamed beneath her eyes now, eerie and flashing in the yellow light.

“Let g-go of m-my hands,” she said suddenly. Whimpering. Trembling. “I’ll…I’ll give you whatever I have. That’s what y-you want, right?”

The big guy twirled his knife in his free hand, laughing. “Gonna get a lot more for taking you in, Mrs. Constable. But thanks anyway.”

“Please,” she said, sobbing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her downcast eyes flicked up momentarily and met Fox’s.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she whimpered, the instant of silent communication gone, and she craned her neck to look up at the shithead holding onto her. “Please. I’ve got m-money—”

What? Whatever she had in her pockets, it wasn’t much.

Fucking fuck, she was running a scam.

The tall Six growled but let go, pulling her up again to brandish the knife in front of her face.

Mewling quietly to herself, Bree picked at her pockets with shaking hands, and shot Fox a look.

“On three,” she mouthed, as if he were somehow wise to whatever plan she had concocted. Down by her pocket, her fingers counted: one—two—three—

Whatever clumsy but earnest assault she launched into with a shriek, Fox missed, because he gritted his teeth and threw his body upwards, which destroyed his aching muscles and fucked-up shoulder exactly as much as he’d expected it to, but he didn’t really have much choice or much time to come up with something better, and honestly, it worked just fine, with the ginger caught off guard. Fox forced him to roll, and with his arm pretty much out of commission, landed the most forceful kick he could muster right in his potato-shaped nose.

“Come on!” He latched onto Bree’s hand the moment he was on his feet. She hadn’t done much to incapacitate the big guy, but it looked like she had managed to kick him in the shins or something, which was going to have to be good enough to give them time to run. Because as much as he wanted to pummel both of these jerks into the ground, his arm said absolutely not, and if the constables really were on their way, they needed to get gone.

“What the fuck happened back there?” he gasped when they’d made it far enough from the frustrated yowling of the Sixes and the cops that only ordinary evening-in-the-city sounds swelled around them. “How’d you even run into those pricks?”

“I got lost,” she said. “It’s a long—”

“You could’ve been hurt!”

As if she somehow hadn’t expected him to be mad, she blanched. The flicker of hurt, though, was quickly replaced by her own anger. “Me?” she retorted. “You jumped right in, knowing your shoulder is still healing! What were you thinking?”

“You kicked that guy in the nuts! What if he’d been just a little nastier, huh? You know what he could’ve done to you?”

His breath was fighting against him—struggling to get in, screeching and scratching on the way out. Fuck, he’d been in fights, and yeah, he’d been clobbered before, not that he much liked admitting it, but this feeling in his chest was new, clawing at him from the inside, tight and only growing.

“Bree, you could have died!”

What had he been thinking, for god’s sake, letting her drop a message? Letting her get involved? How stupid was he? Everyone else knew it. They’d told him time and time again. Idiot. Reckless. Foolhardy. Impulsive. Thoughtless. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Fox, you’re hurting me,” Bree whispered, and he looked down toward the hand squeezing hers.

Shit.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He let go, staring at the fingers that had been about to crush hers. Stupid and ill-fucking-tempered, after all that bullshit of Bree, I’m not him and trying to be better than the soul-sucking demon she’d married and here he was, yelling at her and scaring the shit out of her and hurting her, damn it all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

The words died.

His fingers were slick with blood.

And he was pretty goddamn sure it wasn’t his.

“Bree…”

Her eyes went from his face to his bloody hand, and she gasped softly. “Oh. What did you—”

“It’s not mine,” he said, reaching for the hand he’d been clasping, and the sight of it nearly had him hurling his guts into the street, not because he had a problem with blood, for fuck’s sake, but because of whose blood it was. And how it dripped from her fingers, flowing freely. And fast.

“Oh, my—” Her face went a little green as she realized she was the one leaving a blood trail. “I don’t even know when—”

“Shit,” he hissed, watching dark red splatter onto the stone beneath them. “That looks bad.”

“I’m…I’m sure it’s…” For a moment, he could just see it: her eyelids fluttering closed, her limp body falling to the stone, him having to carry her in his arms while hoping she wouldn’t bleed out then and there…

And then she fumbled for a handkerchief, pressing it against the jagged slice that bastard had left on her forearm, right up to her wrist.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said firmly, even though she was pale.

He watched the starched cotton blossom with wet, seeping darkness, then pulled off his scarf. “Use this.” His hands shook as he pressed the wool to her arm, wrapping it with clumsy fingers.

How long till they got to the inn? Too long. Maybe the scarf would help staunch the blood. But it needed a real bandage. And she probably needed to not be running through the streets in a panic.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

She didn’t move her hands from where they held the makeshift bandage to her arm. But her gaze tilted upwards. “You don’t scare me.”

He swallowed.

“Tell me if you start to feel real bad, okay?” He itched to take her hand in his, so strongly it was almost making him twitch. But she needed to keep pressure on that goddamn cut. “We gotta keep moving. But we’re almost there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking around nervously, a shiver wracking her body. “I don’t know where we are.” 

“We’re not going back to the inn. Not with your arm looking like that.” Her eyes widened, but after a moment, she seemed to realize that he was, for once in his life, following a sensible impulse and not a harebrained one.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I trust you.”

Fox was struck by how fiercely he wanted to just scoop her into his arms and carry her all the way—how much she looked like she needed it. But she stayed on her own two feet, and even though she winced with each jarring step, as the night fell colder and deeper around them, she did not complain. He had to force himself to stay far, far away from the question of why she handled her pain so stoically.

“Just a minute,” he said when they got there, as he pried a loose board from the steps and fished around in the dark, trying to find the key. “Fuck! Where is it?” He’d just dropped it back there an hour ago at most. Where the hell could it have gone?

He heard her soft intake of breath, startled and nervous, and he ordered himself to calm the fuck down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, finally grasping the key and shoving the board back into place. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find…”

“It’s all right.” Was he imagining it, or was her voice growing faint?

Getting the goddamn key into the lock was even more of an ordeal. He was on the verge of just breaking down the door and facing the consequences later when the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Got bandages somewhere,” he said, helping her through the entryway—he knew every uneven floorboard, every sharp corner, but she didn’t. “I just—I mean—I—fuck—” Where was he supposed to start? “Water. Right? Wash it. Needs to be…”

“Fox…”

“It’s usually me with the stupid injuries,” he said as he guided her toward the kitchen, “the dumb, idiot, clumsy, dumb fuck who’s hurt, and everyone else is running around finding me bandages, not the other way around, so I don’t really—”

“Just—”

“But I think—I gotta boil water, right? So it’s clean? Or whatever? Does that sound right?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The word danced around his head, taunting him, unwilling to let him forget for even an instant how foolish it had been to let Bree get anywhere close to IA life.

So what had he done?

Brought her to its headquarters.

Its empty, abandoned headquarters—but IA’s former stronghold, nonetheless.

He tore through the cupboards. God, the others were so damn organized, far more than he was, so you’d think he be able to find a single fucking bandage somewhere.

“Got it,” he said, leaving the cupboard door wide open and turning back toward Bree

“Fox!”

The scarf hit the floor more heavily than it should have.

“You’re panicking,” she said. Her handkerchief stuck to her skin; even in the dim light, he could see how wrong it was. The wrong colour, pasted and slick against her arm.

“No, I’m not.” Fuck, her fingers were cold. They found his as he pressed the new bandage to her cut.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m okay.” Weak light, moon and lamp glows mingled, drifted in, just enough to see that her cheeks were wet and her lip was trembling. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck that,” he said, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. Until she flinched. “You’re crying.”

“Y-yes,” she said. “I think—I think it’s—it’s catching up with me now.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I was scared. I was scared. I was so scared.” She took a step closer. “When I saw you, when you came around the corner, I felt—I was—I was so—I felt safer, but then—when I thought they might hurt you, and then when they were going to turn us in, and the thought of you—” She gasped, and then she pressed against him, her head to his chest. “Of Baden hurting you again—”

That made him sputter. “Of him hurting me again?” She was shaking. From cold? Leftover terror? Blood loss? Wracking sobs? “You serious?”

“He almost killed you.”

“God, Bree, what d’you think he’d do to you?” His voice cracked. “For being the one to help me? You think I could—you think I could handle that? Him getting his hands on you? So he could…he could…”

Before he even quite realized what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around her, embracing that fragile form as if his body could shield her from the horrors of her past.

“Those constables,” Bree whispered, leaning into him. “They were after me.”

“After you?”

“I ran into my friends,” she said. “They recognized me. Taking down the posters. I—Alice, I think she would have looked the other way, but—but Marguerite, she… She looked… She thought I had gone…” A choking gasp. “She yelled for the police, so I ran. That’s why I was lost. And how I ended up there.”

“It’s okay,” he said, holding tighter. “They didn’t catch you.”

“But if they’d caught you, it would have been all my fault.”

He pulled away then. “No. It wouldn’t have.”

“And that boy hurt your arm,” she said shakily. “Because I—I made them angry—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Not your fault either,” he said. “They’re both shitheads. Plain and simple.”

She laughed, weepy but genuine, and it was beautiful. It brought him back from that fuzzy, floating realm of rage that seemed to exist outside of time and space, that turned the world white and red and black and made his thoughts go hazy and made him just want to scream and lash out and make the pain and the people causing it go away. That laugh, even thick and choked with tears, grounded him. Reminded him of why he’d been so pissed off in the first place. Who he’d been so desperate to protect.

He pressed one hand to her cheek. She didn’t startle, didn’t flinch. When he slid it down to the tip of her chin, and with the gentlest, barest force he could muster, tilted it up so he could look into her eyes, she didn’t pull away.

“None of it was your fault,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry for making you think…” His mouth had gone dry. “I was scared, too.”

Scared of what, exactly?

Bree brushed away the tears that still glittered on her cheeks. “I’m worried I’m getting blood on your coat.”

Blood. “Shit!” He was supposed to be boiling water. Apologizing and explaining and cuddling were all great, but they weren’t going to do much to help her sliced-open arm. “Let me—god, I’m sorry, I’m really terrible at this whole thing—”

He bolted for the door. When you lived in an old-ass townhouse, you got the pleasure of using the old-ass well down the road instead of the fancy-ass running water the rich folk got. And if no one had been in the house for weeks, there sure as hell wasn’t any water inside. “Sit down, okay? I’m coming back. I’ll—I’m just going for water—I’ll be right there!”

He fled before she could comment on what a piss-poor medic he made, or on the fact that he still had to get a goddamn fire going before he could even think about boiling water.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. At least the inn would have had hot, clean water ready to use.

But it was farther away.

But it was safer.

But she’d have kept bleeding into the street.

Water in tow, he skidded back inside and went straight for the oven, flinging open the cast-iron door and throwing in the first flammable things he could find. He really had to concentrate, to focus his energy on lighting the kindling and making sure the logs took to flame, because his mind was racing again, too fast and too loud. If Bree said anything, he didn’t hear.

When he finally turned around, water heating and candles lit so they could actually see, her head lay on her good arm—her body slumped over the table.

“Shit! You okay?” He flew to her side. Landed on his knees.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately. “Yes. I’m just resting.” Slowly, she sat up. “You were here already.”

“Huh?”

She pointed to the message he’d written in dust earlier that day—such a short time ago, yet it felt like decades. “What does it mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” He stood up again, embarrassed that he’d panicked when she’d merely closed her eyes in exhaustion. An inspection of her arm showed that no new blood had soaked through the bandage she still held against it. “It says I’m alive.”

“Not that,” she said. He tried to catch any resentment in her voice. But she didn’t sound surprised that he’d been to the house already. “The other part. The letters.”

He looked again at the initials. It was so obvious to him—but of course, to her, it meant nothing.

“You really wanna know?”

His heart was still racing, but as he looked over the letters, his mind calmed once more, and his limbs moved without frenzy—one hand to stroke her cheek, an unconscious movement he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to, and the other to take her unbandaged arm.

“Of course.” Her eyes were on him. When he moved her hand, though, she looked to the table, to the letter B, and what he was writing there with the tip of her finger.

Bree.

She frowned, confused, until he did it again. Guided her finger to form the rest of the letters that were missing behind the W.

Silence draped over them, but it wasn’t the boggy, drowning, thought-twisting kind. It was the kind that made him forget why the house was so silent. It was the kind that dripped with sweetness and with promise, that inhabited the space between strangers and not, between fear and loyalty, between the past and the future.

“Will,” she breathed. “Your name is Will.”

No doubt. No mistrust. Not even a question; it was as if, by some magic, she had always known, and the revelation was no surprise. The sound of his name coming from those lips was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, like birdsong after a storm or the crunch of boots on a fresh, white crust of snow.

“My name is Will,” he echoed.

Bree was silent again, gazing at him with wide, shining eyes. In unison, they drew closer, and Will’s entire body tingled with every possibility contained in the moments between them, in their shivering breaths that seemed to go in and out as one, and in the crackling air that seemed now to connect rather than separate.

And then she was the one with her arms around him, those bird’s wings enveloping him as if they might never let go, and her lips were pressed to his. Her kiss was warm, as soft as air, almost, and just as life-giving. It tasted the way he imagined starlight would: sweet and bright and colourful, like strawberries in summer, like apples in autumn, like cinnamon and sugar and just-brewed tea.

With his pounding heart rattling every inch of his body, Will Wardrew kissed Bree Scarlett back, and even though their world was in shambles and maybe always had been, there was a moment where everything—everything—was right.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

@kixngiggles

✨

[infernalodie]

We need more angsty zendaya imagines… rue, mj, doesn’t matter. You write it so damn well

𝐃𝐢𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 || 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐚

"𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘐𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 '𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐'𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶"

Inspo: Joji - Die For You

Pairing: Zendaya x Black!Male!reader

Summary: You were happy she found happiness with someone, even though it killed you inside...

Warnings: Angst and a bittersweet ending

Words: 1711

The heavy aroma of fragrances and wine stung your nose. You missed the fresh green tea scent that your apartment held from your addiction to the warm beverage. Everything was loud, and hot-and your two-piece was not helping you. No matter how much you shifted or tugged the collar of your dress shirt, it didn’t change how uncomfortable you felt being here, the VMAs.

You were sat at a table filled with faces you didn’t care to acknowledge with glasses of toxins that would likely shape the rest of your miserable night to something worse. Candles placed in the center of each table created an ocean of small flames with even more faces you would forget by your fifth glass. None of them knew you or care about you. So, why the hell should you care to show them a sliver of decency either?

But although you felt uncomfortable being here, the only thing that made it somewhat worth it was the view from a few tables ahead of you. Past Timothee Chalamet and Billie Eilish, Zendaya sat with her back to you. A beautiful dress hugging her slim figure that was beginning to fade from your memory. A lot of her was slowly being forgotten from your mind, but you hoped to have some sort of refresher tonight. She was the entire reason you were still here.

How long had it been? 4 months? Something like that. Nevertheless, 4 months had passed since she walked out of your life. Bags in hand and tears in her eyes as she bid her final farewell to you. And you? God, you were… are a mess- still. Nothing had been the same since Zendaya decided to call it quits with you after 2 years of dating. You weren’t sure as to what her reasoning was, but you never wanted to pry from her. Her reasoning was hers and for her to know. Although it created an ever-increasing ache in your heart, you wanted to make her decision easy to be made. She was hurting, at the same time, but you didn’t want to add any more baggage.

Since then, you had attended many events that she did. You two had exchanged enough glances that some part of your heart was fulfilled. And when she and Tom started dating, you had cried your eyes out, especially when seeing them at the Met Gala together. Having to walk those stairs with tears in your eyes and ignoring the paparazzi.

It hurt so fucking much. People knew and thought you should’ve gotten over it, but it was easier said than done. You hurt, but you were also happy for her. She deserved the best person in the world, and it just turns out you weren’t that person. Fate had created a new path that would divert your guys’ stories and you would have to find some way to keep going on without her.

Pft, easier said than done…

Tilting your head slightly, you watched as an arm out of your view curled around the back of her chair. You didn’t need a book to know who it was, but you pursed your lips nonetheless. Sniffling as you looked at your red wine for a moment. A sense of contemplation filled your head before you hastily grabbed the glass and downed it. Unbothered by the glances of the people at your table, watching you pour yourself another glass.

Standing to your feet, your chair scraped across the ground, alerting a handful of people. But your feet carried you through the array of tables, weaving in and out on the paths towards the hall. All while sipping from your wine, hoping the effects would kick in sooner than later.

But you found yourself standing in one of the many halls outside the auditorium. The warm marigold walls almost glowed from the chandeliers that were hung from the ceiling. Small jewels hanging from the branches of said Chandeliers and sparkling. Yet, the warmth of the hall wasn’t the best part; the silence was. It allowed you to lean against the wall and let out an exasperated sigh.

You shouldn’t have been so attached to Zendaya as you were. The time apart should’ve been enough for you to accept the situation. But the thing was, you did. You accepted it, yet, the wound still felt fresh. Stinging every time you saw a beautiful picture of her online or saw pictures of her and Tom together. Her smile, her voice, her laugh. It left a sour feeling in your heart that you couldn’t shake.

Knees folding from beneath you, you slowly slid down the wall until you landed square on your butt. Shifting your arms to rest against your knees, staring intently at the contents inside your glass. “Y/n, are you okay?” That voice made your shoulders stiffen with your eyes shooting wide as saucers. Turning your head from where you came from, to find Zendaya wearing a concerned expression. Her eyes flickered all over you to see if you were injured or something. But you stared at her, eyes taking in her dress that stole the air from your chest.

She’s never going to stop being beautiful, huh?

Shaking free from your shock, you forced a smile. Averting your gaze back to your glass and sighing. “This whole thing isn’t my type of crowd,” you stated, eyes taking a chance to glance at her. And when you found her eyes soften, your heart warmed slightly. “Manager forced me to attend, so, I decided to come out here and catch my breath.”

Although that was true, you just couldn’t handle seeing Zendaya with Tom. Well, at least as much as you were being forced to see. But you couldn’t find the right reasons to blame either Tom or Zendaya for you feeling like this. They were living their lives, happily. And you were still stuck and fumbling over past events.

“I was wondering why you decided to come,” Zendaya said with a smile. Walking over and stealing the open spot beside you on the floor. The immediate heat you felt rushed through your body causing you to shift away slightly. Not enough to alarm her, but enough for her to take notice. The thing about Zendaya was she still had this hold over your heart and mind. It was concerning as to how many nights you had stayed up in your house, pacing the living room with a bottle of vodka in hand. Hair astray as you screamed in agony from what your heart was feeling. And as much as you fought to free yourself, the anxiety of the change caused you to only hold on tighter. Everything you were doing was just going against what you deserved; a chance to be happy and find out what was next for you.

Sniffling, you glanced at the girl beside you. “Congratulations for Euphoria and No Way Home. You killed the roles,” you praised softly, pulling the glass to your lips, and sipping from it. Zendaya couldn’t help the teasing grin to take its place as she softly nudged her shoulder against yours.

“Keeping up with my movements, Y/n?” You couldn’t contain the muffled laugh as you placed the back of your hand over your lips, trying to hold in the wine. Zendaya laughed hysterically, placing a hand on your shoulder so she didn’t fall over. Her nose crinkled as her face was scrunched up in pure euphoria. This was one of the things you missed from Zendaya. These simple moments of happiness seemed to carry more weight than one would think. You missed hearing her stupid jokes and missed her laugh.

Swallowing the contents, you sighed, a soft chuckle falling from your lips as you shook your head in amusement. But the moment was cut short when another set of footsteps alerted you two. Looking up at Tom with a look of concern. But when his gaze found Zendaya, he let out a sigh of relief. You glanced between them awkwardly before giving Zendaya a small smile. “It was nice talking to, Z.” The old nickname made the woman smile as you walked past her and Tom, making your way toward the front doors. Paparazzi were already there, flicking photos of you with their flashes blinding you.

You couldn’t get much farther before a hand grasped your wrist, yanking you back inside. An exclaim fell from your lips as you stumbled back. When you least expected it, Tom was the one to catch your hand. Offering an uneasy smile as he helped you stand. His hands were soft, warm, and somewhat comforting.

Is that how Zendaya felt every night with him? Warm and comforted?

“I’m sorry, I just needed to talk to you,” Tom explained, dusting your jacket off any dirt that could’ve been caught. You hummed, slightly amused by the man’s kind attitude. “I, um, I know that you and Zendaya dated in the past. And I just want you to know - and not for this sound douchey or whatever - I promise I’ll take care of her.”

His words made your brows raise in surprise. Your ex’s boyfriend was promising you something he didn’t need. Not even mentioning the fact that he made an effort to tell you this. All of it was surprising, but it still hurt like a bitch to acknowledge. Some small part of you wanted to put Tom’s head through a door for taking Zendaya, but you knew his intentions hadn’t been malicious.

Running a hand over your face, you sighed and looked at the man. He had a determined look in his eyes as he held your gaze. It made you smile and grab his arm softly and give it a squeeze. “I know you will,” you told him, hearing him inhale sharply, but you continued. “Keep doing what I couldn’t; making her feel like the best woman on this planet.”

Giving one last cheerful smile to the man, you patted his shoulder and walked away. Stepping out to your vehicle with people asking what had happened between you and Tom. But you slipped inside your SUV and sighed shakily. Leaning back in your seat and rubbing your eyes.

Do what I couldn’t, Tom.

[dangermousie]

This scene is unreal. Because the world keeps saying he’s unfeeling, he’s a monster, he does not react properly blah blah but that is all absolutely insane - he betrays nobody who trusts him and means him well, he wants to be loved, he wants to understand (so much of this conversation is his trying to understand and even find some excuse) but all he gets in return is knives in the back from people who justify it to themselves by “he’s a freak” or “I have a good goal” or whatever, when all that is, is a self-serving excuse to justify being horrific traitors.

And yet again, the world in person of this witch, is drilling into his head that love is a weakness, that it’s bad, that he should avoid it. How can anyone stay functional under all this onslaught?

This is horrifying, some sort of equivalent of “I adopted a kid but once I had a bio one, that kid clearly became second class” WTFFFFFFF like you are a simulacrum, a substitute, a fake, only OK if there is better alternative, to be discarded the moment there is. Just once, he needs someone to choose HIM.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! Have the decency to feel sorry you betrayed someone, not go “of course this was right, because he’s an introvert.” That isn’t even conditional love, this is just insanity.

And the way she drives the nails in, by trying to make him think this is the default, he’s a monster nobody would choose. God, I hope you roast in hell, hag.

His face. My God!

He keeps trying to salvage something but how can there be anything, all these “normal” humans have smug wastelands for hearts.

OK, once again, this is such a self-serving excuse. Oh, I know you made the other nanny mad. Yes, by switching the drugged bowls the nanny was going to feed him. Was he supposed to let her kill him like a good boy? And the nerve of saying “we raised you but if you betrayed us you treat us as strangers.” What is he supposed to do, turn his back so you can stab it easier? WTF! When a near person betrays you, it’a a WORSE betrayal!

The thing that gets me is fine, she chose her daughter, OK. But the lack of decency of showing any remorse, of doing it with regret is so utterly lacking, it’s more all she wants is to justify to the victim why she chose him to be killed. It’s like she wants him to go “Oh, OK, I get it, you are right to betray me to torture and death, fair.” INSANE!!!

This must feel like trying to reason with a lunatic, poor Tantai Jin!

It’s worse than anyone else’s, lady. WTF!

And once again, for the umpteeth time, feelings = vulnerability and death is being hammered into him. (Side note - is he unfeeling or is he someone whose feelings you exploited, lady, make up your mind!)

His refusal to admit his feelings! Between being told he can have none and being told that feelings are mortal weakness, no wonder he fights it tooth and nail. This man needs so much therapy!

SHUT UP LADY!

This is like the kiss in the Godfather. But also, lady, this was your last chance (and the fact that he was looking for that last sliver of hope, for a reason to not kill her already makes him more humane than 99% of these characters.)

When she tenderly takes his face and calls him “my child” to gently say THAT. Breathtaking cruelty in action. 

Look at the way his face changes, give him all the awards!

Thank you! Goodbye lady!

[tadpolesonalgae]

AHHHH u don't know how happy i am that ppl are talking abt Please... bc i remember stumbling upon that fic and seeing that it's been a while since the third part and kinda dejectedly accepting that would be the last of the fic we get 💔

u mentioned that the relationship between azriel and reader will likely not be something romantic or sexual. what kind of vibe would their relationship be in that case? because i think in that fic, ur descriptions of how they perceive each other and themselves were a bit more sensible(?) than the actual books (sorry sjm lmao) in that they both seem to acknowledge that a 500+ year gap is..... y'know.. a pretty big difference and that there's an insane gulf of just, experience in life/war/knowledge/etc due to that age gap despite how powerful reader can be with her truthtelling? powers.

for some reason i can't see them being friends? it feels more like,, a mentor-mentee type of relationship.

idk if az has actually been portrayed like that or if my brain has just convinced myself so with wishful thinking 🤭 but i think he has a somewhat? protective??? nature about reader???????? like he knows that she grew up in hewn city and under keir's "parenting" no less so he's aware what she's been taught and molded to be made into. but he also seems to know she shouldn't be in that type of environment? idk again maybe i've just been imagining things lol.

like, reader seems oddly naive and almost pure despite the cruelties she probably witnessed and been subjected to (if the implied language throughout the fic meant anything). in part 1 she allowed azriel, a 500+ y/o fae who literally pointed a knife to her face 2 seconds ago, to touch her with more or less no way to protect herself had azriel decided to do something she didn't want him to. and there's just slivers of moments throughout the fic that kinda makes u want to hug her bc girlie seems so lost abt herself and the world 😭😭 it's just very clear that she doesn't really have anyone to rely on so she latched on to the first person that showed Any ounce of human decency, and az isn't even overtly kind to her 😭 bro threatened to kill her so he could get the veritas thing and yet EVEN THEN he's still one of the nicer ppl she's met in her life (considering she trusted him enough to make the deal to have him touch her + asked him to comeback himself when returning it + doesn't hesitate when revealing potentially sensitive info + the way she subconsciously brought herself infront of his tent in part 3)

ALSO have reader and mor interacted with each other at all throughout her life???? i'm assuming they're sisters through keir (probably half sisters? idk if this has been addressed in the fic it's been a while since i've read it). i ask bc i can't imagine mor or even rhys would've just let her grow up in hewn city alone knowing how it was like for mor. so i've been assuming that keir probably hid reader or kept her sheltered to some degree before she reached a certain age or started to become useful to him with her powers, and at that point it was kinda too late for the ic to intervene or smth. now i'm wondering if reader harbours any resentment or emotion towards mor and/or rhysand, or if it's more of a disinterest like "that's someone that's apparently related to me but i don't rlly know them so 🤷‍♀️". i think there was a moment in part 1 that indicates that reader is scared of rhy's powers and him potentially wiping her memory during the i'll-give-you-the-veritas-if-you-touch-me deal thing so maybe there isn't any familiarity between them beyond that he's high lord of the night court 🤔

anyways sorry if i just started assuming a bunch of things that weren't there in the fic but something about Please... just makes me feral and want to go into hyper analyzing mode bc the plot, her being keir's daughter, the dynamic w her and az, all of it is so interesting to me

‘i remember stumbling upon that fic and seeing that it's been a while since the third part and kinda dejectedly accepting that would be the last of the fic we get 💔’

Oh my gosh no, please always feel free to drop by and ask about future parts to fics—I often get preoccupied with cbmthy so forget I have other things that people might be here for 🫠

I’ve actually started on Part 4 for please… and have gotten some future scenes planned out if you still want more after the next chapter!🧡💛

‘because i think in that fic, ur descriptions of how they perceive each other and themselves were a bit more sensible(?) than the actual books (sorry sjm lmao) in that they both seem to acknowledge that a 500+ year gap is..... y'know..’

That’s so sweet to say 😭 thank you 🫂

Honestly with please… reader is supposed to be in a pretty bad situation but not overly concerned about it? Sure it would be nice to leave, but she doesn’t imagine that’s possible so is content to set her mind to use by guarding Kier’s trove of treasures. Then with the strict court rules (particularly for her, being kier’s offspring and also female) she point blank doesn’t have an interest in finding someone else since that’s not what she’s been raised on? So when Az comes along, sure he’s beautiful, but he’s the High Lord’s Spymaster first and foremost, probably quite a few levels above her in terms of hierarchy, but on fairly similar footing hence the wariness but not blatant disinterest on her part.

‘sensible(?)’

I’m so sorry to go on a tangent here, but I’ve never seen anyone else do the ‘(?)’ thing (I might just have an awful memory though, sorry if I do 🫢) It’s such a useful little marker, I used to use it all the time in high-school essays when I was unsure about quotes 🤦

Anyway, tangent over! Sorry!

‘for some reason i can't see them being friends? it feels more like,, a mentor-mentee type of relationship.’

I think reader craves a companion of sorts and Az is currently the closest she has to that ideal. Though I agree I can’t see them forming a friendship in the traditional sense? Maybe they might grow to that in a century or two, but like you said with the vast difference in experience I imagine it would take a while for them to reach a similar level of understanding :)

‘idk if az has actually been portrayed like that or if my brain has just convinced myself so with wishful thinking 🤭 but i think he has a somewhat? protective??? nature about reader????????’

Stop because I read through the last three parts last night to help with writing part 4 and I can’t pull their dynamic to mind at the moment 🤦

I think in part 3 though there is that scene where he looks after her a little because he sees some shards of himself in her from the angle of being made to inflict torture on someone? But after having hurt a person together, I think reader might become a little shaky around him specifically, so we’ll see what happens in part 4 🫣🧡💛

‘like, reader seems oddly naive and almost pure despite the cruelties she probably witnessed and been subjected to (if the implied language throughout the fic meant anything).’

So we haven’t really gotten to see much of that (mainly because I hadn’t intended this to be so plot-heavy but shh) but I suppose it’s more indifference to the things that happen around her rather than ignorance/her being unaware of them. I’d say it’s why she’s more blasé when Az first finds her in part one, because she knows he can’t just kill her despite having the ability to, if that makes sense?

‘she allowed azriel, a 500+ y/o fae who literally pointed a knife to her face 2 seconds ago, to touch her with more or less no way to protect herself had azriel decided to do something she didn't want him to.’

This is probably something I’ll be touching more on in part 4 and that was kind of alluded to in part 3, but with her powers of truth she’s able to get a general sense of a person. Obviously she’s still pretty young compared to other fae and has grown up in the Hewn city, so the types of people she’s encountered have been mostly the same which makes things a little difficult. However, she didn’t get the impression Azriel particularly wanted to kill her, or that he was particularly untrustworthy which is why she was so ready to make a deal with him. (That and also girlie just needed to feel something, desperately)

‘it's just very clear that she doesn't really have anyone to rely on so she latched on to the first person that showed Any ounce of human decency, and az isn't even overtly kind to her 😭’

Compared to how he can be with his family, no he wasn’t kind to her, but he wasn’t cruel to her—which, having grown up in the Hewn City, is as good as wrapping her up in a warm blanket and setting a tray full of delicious food on her lap. Although I think he’s gotten a little more gentle with her in part 3? Maybe? 😶

‘so i've been assuming that keir probably hid reader or kept her sheltered to some degree before she reached a certain age or started to become useful to him with her powers, and at that point it was kinda too late for the ic to intervene or smth.’

Unfortunately again, I hadn’t really considered this angle 😶‍🌫️

I’d have to agree with you that Kier would have kept her hidden otherwise I feel like Mor would have been right there from day one to make sure her younger sister wouldn’t have to endure what she did.

With whether or not reader harnesses any resentment toward the IC, I’d say it’s a bit of a mix? She’d scared of Rhys, as literally anyone in the Hewn City should be, considering what sort of person he becomes, but beyond fear and maybe a twinge of admiration for Mor I don’t think she has particularly strong feelings toward them :/

‘anyways sorry if i just started assuming a bunch of things that weren't there in the fic but something about Please... just makes me feral and want to go into hyper analyzing mode bc the plot, her being keir's daughter, the dynamic w her and az, all of it is so interesting to me’

It’s no problem at all!!

It might take me a while to respond to slightly longer asks is all, but if you’re fine with that then I love getting to read through these!! I’m pretty sure you’re the first person to talk about please… specifically in such depth (which is so flattering, thank you so much) so I’m really happy to have a reason to return to it and I hope part 4 will have a similar essence of what you enjoyed in the first three parts! 🧡💛

[wkemeup]

okay I found a fun list of dialogue prompts :) ''for the third time this week, you're drooling.''

summary: bucky is stupid in love pairing: bucky x reader word count: 687 a/n: It's less than 1k are you so proud of me???

“Will you stop looking at her? You’re going to give me a stomach ache.” Sam shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Bucky – still lost in his daze – hadn't had the decency of listening to his friend in favor of the love struck, helpless gaze transfixed in your direction. If Sam had swiped Bucky’s elbow off the table, his forehead would have dropped right into the bowl of popcorn. It was the only thing keeping him sitting up right.

Bucky blinked, peeling his hand away from his cheek and revealing a pink imprint in its place. “Huh?”

“For the third time this week, you’re drooling.” Sam rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were tugging a little by the edge of his mouth.

Across the room, you bit at the end of the pencil between your teeth, chewing away at the rubbery taste of the eraser. Your fingers flipped through the file in your lap, a bright pink bandied covering your thumb. Still, you nodded along to the beat of a song Bucky couldn’t hear, your toe tapping in time with the rhythm.

What did Sam expect him to do? Talk to you? Sure, he’d done it a thousand times now but that didn’t make it any easier. Not with the way you’d sit with your legs crossed, revealing just a sliver higher of thigh under your shorts, or the way your tongue darted out along the edge of the pencil. Heaven forbid you look in his direction and he caught a glimpse of the light in your eyes as your smile brightened and incapsulated the whole room and swept him entirely off his feet and into the next dimension.

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little louder. Then suddenly, a paper flew off your lap. You lunged in an effort to reach it before it could get away, only for it to slip between your fingers. The paper fluttered through the air, twirling through the breeze of the air conditioning unit, and sliding along the tile surface until it bumped against Bucky’s boot.

For a moment, he stared down at the insert – a list of weapons manufactured by an arms dealer in Winnipeg you were tasked with intel on. He was frozen.

“Little help, Buck?” you called from across the room. You set the rest of the file on the couch beside you and slowly rose to your feet. Bucky’s throat went dry.

He bent down and grabbed the paper. He’d been ready to bring it back to you when he stood to find you standing only a few inches away. Your hand grazed his as you reached for the paper, your eyes not leaving his for even a moment. Even as goosebumps rose along his right arm, a breath hitching in his chest.

“Thanks,” you whispered, gaze trailing down to his lips.

Bucky nodded quickly. Too quickly. “’Course.”

You took a step back and Bucky finally allowed himself to exhale. But then – you spun around again, hair lighting grazing over his nose as you turned.

“Hey,” you grinned, chewing at the edge of your lip the way you chewed on the pencil. “Think you might have some free time this evening?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

A loud cough carried from across the room. Sam held his arms up in defeat, dramatically gesturing to you. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red as you started to laugh, but damn if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“I want to take you out,” you replied casually, as if you didn't notice the way Bucky’s eyes bulged in surprise. Bucky could barely breath, but he offered a short nod. You grinned. “Be ready by seven, okay? Wear something nice. I called and got us a reservation at that fancy steakhouse last week.”

Bucky nodded, feeling like he couldn’t do much else. He’d have to figure out how to speak properly before seven, if he survived that long. You were almost back to your seat before Bucky realized what you had said.

“Wait--” he called, stunnd. “Last week?”

You winked at him and Bucky swore he saw stars.

[zaffrenotes]

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

-

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

-

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

-

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

[annhellsing]

Little Earthquake

notes: so i’m gonna be forever interested in loki’s characterization in thor: ragnarok so have a belated fic about love and redemption rating: teen, we’re FORGIVING in this house pairing: loki / reader word count: 1,890

It’s hard to measure how good the hug feels. It isn’t quick, passionless, over before he can appreciate the full extent of the awkwardness. No, you hold him for a long time. You put your chest to his and you press your fingers to his back. You feel him, slight and imperfect against you. Like he was made to be there.

The last time he saw you, he’s sure he was embraced. That’s how you were. And, apparently, still are. He doesn’t know if he should breathe during it, or if he should just hold very still until it ends. Hesitantly, his slim hand rises to the curve between your back and your hips. But that’s the only comfort he can offer.

“You’re all right,” you say. It sounds just as much like reassurance as it does relief. He’s not sure which he’s more uncomfortable with.

The crowd’s dense enough, so filled with mourning and love that no one pays you any mind. You hug him tighter, just for a moment, like you need to feel that he’s solid under your hands. Loki, to his great surprise, allows it. He breathes very slowly.

And he says nothing, even as you rear back to look at him. Even as you scramble to hold his face between your hands and look at him. He’s not sure what you’re looking for, why you choose to give a warm smile tinged only slightly with characteristic nervousness.

“You’re not dead,” you sigh. You smile wider. He supposes you found whatever it is you wanted to see. The life in his eyes, perhaps. Or the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. The way he blinks, just once, with something other than confusion.

What shocks him is not the hug. Not your sudden, desperate need for closeness after so long spent apart. It’s that he got it first. Not your mother and father, your eleven sisters, not even his only brother. You rushed at him. Only him. What you don’t say makes the most sense to him. He’s not dead, everyone else who might’ve gotten your love is.

Loki can understand how that feels.

“No,” he finally acknowledges you spoke at all, “I’m not.”

“Were you going to let me think you were forever?” you ask, but you’re still smiling. Just teasing, just because you’re still alive to do it.

“We’ll never know,” he stiffens a little as you slip your arms around his neck again. Loki familiarizes himself with where people are looking, just to be safe. None of them spare him a glance.

“Thank you for saving us,” it comes out breathy, easily retracted should he choose to be cruel. He doesn’t choose to be anything at all. “I knew that you wou--”

“No, you didn’t,” he cuts you off. But it isn’t horribly meant, that’s what stuns you to silence before the interruption. “I had the element of surprise on my side, I’ll admit.”

“That isn’t what I meant, I promise,” you say, “I only knew that you would choose home.”

A bold statement, given he feels such a strong urge to run. Loki has enough courage to step away from your brand of kindness, but he can’t bring himself to. The relief in your voice and the way you look at him makes it impossible to misinterpret that as unkindness.

He’s home. And he’s terrified.

“And how do you know that I’ve decided anything?” he asks. You have the decency to look a little bit ashamed, your eyes drop to his chest. To how it rises and falls, over his beating heart.

“I want to sit,” you tell him. You forgo an answer, but only temporarily. You free him, finally, only to trap his hand in yours right after. “Come, we have to talk.”

“What of?” he asks, he follows with no small amount of hesitation. But whatever reserve of modesty you hid behind has run out, you tug him along with no pretense of giving him an alternative. Loki allows it.

You pick a little alcove, no more than a sliver of space underneath a window. Loki looks out, barely able to see the stars for the void. And though he knows the tugging sensation one can feel out there, it is easier than looking at your familiar fondness. Your little hand is still in his, guiding him to lean his back against the glass.

“I almost can’t remember the last time I saw you,” you sigh, “you as yourself, I mean. I stared quite a bit at the Allfather.”

“More than once, I thought you had recognized me,” Loki replies. You give a vague shrug.

“Perhaps I do not know your shadow, though I’ve made claims to the contrary,” you say. He hums, the sound both brief and bitter. “But you intend to live with us, as one of us again?”

You have the courtesy to phrase it like a question, but it makes Loki’s brow furrow nevertheless. To his ears, it’s almost accusatory. He huffs and turns away from you, looking at the scattered clusters of broken families in the hall.

“As I’ve said, nothing has been decided,” he replies.

“But you’re here,” you remind him, earning a dismissive grunt from the man at your elbow. You nudge him very gently, reaching to pick up his hand that was rather pointedly tugged from yours when you sat down.

Loki doesn’t know if he likes how easy it is to miss the warmth of your palms. Love like this has always been just out of reach, or quickly lost, or come with a price that was too dear to pay. You may not know his shadow after all, even as he weaves illusions to trick the mind, but you know his flesh and blood. He is solid in your hands, he’s present. There are no tricks, he’s decided to stay.

“For now,” he says. You lift an eyebrow.

“Yes, for now. But for all your cunning plans and schemes, you do tend to stand firm in your alliances once you have made them,” you reply. He is quick to scowl, but not to untangle his fingers from between yours. “I am glad that you have chosen to trust in the strength of your family again.”

“You speak as if I were merely lost,” his voice is deadpan, almost disappointed. Loki has always known you to be brimming with kindness, with sweetness that could be used as a weapon. But stupidity never seemed to make such a home next to it as now, he shakes his head.

“Not merely,” you correct him, “deeply lost. Perhaps even astray.”

“Like a wayward sheep?” he studies you with cold eyes, his grip on your hand tightens a fraction. It is a warning, a false strike that a snake might offer up. It is a bluff, you can see it on his face. “And my brother the shepherd, foolishly eager to reclaim what belongs to Asgard?”

You look hurt, and he wishes for all the world his silver tongue could lie quiet long enough for you to keep smiling at him. He didn’t know how badly it would sting to see him chase it so soon, even if perhaps he wanted to prove to himself that your love has its limits. To his immortal surprise, you only squeeze his hand back. This is a warning too, of a different design. One that tells him something far more frightening than your hurt, you are angry. And you are opening your mouth to speak.

“Why must you fight even now, when you’ve come back to me?” you ask. Loki expected to hear venom in your voice, after so long only hearing his own. But your question is a soft sigh.

“Thor might be foolish enough to forgive me, but I never thought you would be,” he doubles down, and half-expects your mouth to fall open in shock.

Imagine his terror when you only smile, and loosen your fingers around his palm. You pat his hand.

“No one dragged you home, Loki,” you say. “If you were lost, you did a fine job of finding yourself,”

“What?” his blood turns to ice, he stares at you with hot shame creeping up his neck. You know worse than his shadow, you know his mind.

“You’ve never done a thing you didn’t want to do,” is all you say. He is quiet for longer than he is comfortable with.

He squeezes his eyes shut, thinking of blue light and power untold in exchange for physical pain. He thinks of torture and of falling past unfeeling stars. Loki almost chokes on his desire to tell you how wrong you are, but he doesn’t have to.

“What has the world done to you?” you ask. He feels fingers on his chin, and turns his head with your slow insistence. He didn’t realize he had turned his face away.

“More than I care to remember,” he admits, “I was gone a very long time.”

“And gone very far away, at that,” you say.

There’s a great shout from down the hall, hugs and kisses to lost relatives caving into raucous celebrations. Perhaps he’ll drink with you, even if you’ve never once persuaded him to dance.

“Will you tell me what happened?” you ask.

“Not in full,” he exhales. He hates that you can pull the truth from him when he is so insistent on playing with lies.

Even on the cusp of his redemption, Loki wants nothing but sabotage. That and your hand not to leave his face, not to cease with the absent-minded stroking of your fingertips so near the corner of his mouth.

He’s in possession of far too much pride to lean into your touch, but his eyes are half-closed. Songs of reunion ring out through the ship, but he feels alone with you. Loki doesn’t know if he could allow someone else to see him crumble.

“I’ll take what you’ll give me,” you say. Your voice sounds closer now, like a kiss waiting to be pressed somewhere cold and intimate. He’s freezing under your hands, as he always has when he’s upset.

“When have you ever settled for it alone?” he replies.

Your gentle scoff is accompanied, finally, by the kiss he’s been secretly working up the courage to demand. The kiss he hasn’t earned.

It’s earnest and warm against his fear-cold skin. Like slipping into a hold bath, you fold him against your chest. Loki’s heart is full and hollow at the same time, remembering his youth spent hoping that this kiss would only ever be his to know.

“You’ve changed, can’t I?” you reply when your sweet smile pulls you away from him.

“Yes, but so miraculously… it seems unlikely,” he trails off, unable to keep his own smirk from his traitorous face. You poke him in the stomach, targeting his thin ribs.

“This is why I chose you,” you’re beaming at him like he’s the same boy at your name-day party sheepishly trying to win your attention.

“Out of spite, I assume?” there is no malice in his mouth, you know it for certain when you let him take another kiss.

“My greatest delight is your discomfort,” you nudge your nose against his cheek.

“Mutually assured unhappiness,” he muses. “I could get used to it again.”

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Hey there! So this took me a bit longer than expected but here it is! I should probably mention that it's an angsty one. Sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it. I'd love to get some feedback :)

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

She woke that morning wishing she didn’t have to leave her room for the rest of the month. That was going to be difficult, however. Kaz would come to drag her out himself if he had to. She knew he would. It was probably best to avoid angering him any further. He had made his anger quite clear the night before.

---

Kaz had sent everyone away for the night after having heard their reports and studying the plans for a few more minutes. His gloved fingers had wrapped themselves tightly around her wrist when she’d tried to slip past him.

“Can you get the job done? Or do I have to worry I’ll lose my corporalnik to a king?” His voice had been heavy with disdain.

“Of course, I can do the job, Kaz! How long have I been working for you?” she’d felt panic rise in her, making her nauseous.

“I’ve known Jesper even longer. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t disappointed me.” He snickered. “You haven’t answered my question, Y/N.” The way he’d said her name had sent a shiver down her spine. It had been a barely hidden warning.

“Kaz…” her voice had broken. Would he send me back to Tante Ingrid? She simply couldn’t tell.

“Start tailoring Nikolai and yourself back. I’ll see you in the morning. Do not be late.”

She’d spent the next 3 hours tailoring the king, who threatened to ruin her life by occupying her every thought, and then herself. Nikolai had at least had the decency to stay quiet this time around. She had been far from done when they’d called it a night, but she’d judged it would be enough to keep Kaz off her back.

---

Y/N got ready quickly, keeping Kaz’s warning in mind. She shrugged off her nightgown. She’d slept terribly. She pulled her white shirt over her head, tucking it in the pants she’d chosen for the day. Her mind kept travelling back to Nikolai’s kiss and Kaz’s terrifying fury. She loosely tied the strings at her shirt’s collar, letting the delicate bow rest on her chest. Her brain seemed to be stuck playing both moments repeatedly. It was ridiculous. Nikolai had only kissed her to keep up the act. There was no reason to jeopardize her place with the crows over something so meaningless. So why couldn’t her mind stop bringing it up?

When she finally reached the music room that currently served as their boss’ office, Inej sent her a look of pity from her perch on Kaz’s armchair. Great, she thought, Kaz is still mad.

Jesper and Wylan were lounging, limbs tangled, on a small couch. She nodded to them, returning their greetings, making her way to the opened glass-paneled doors leading to the garden. She watched Marya Hendriks paint while they waited for Nikolai and Zoya to join them. The older woman was working on a beautiful landscape of the Geldcanal. Y/N focused whole-heartedly on the paintbrush strokes letting them erase the memories of the previous night from her mind as they went. She knew it wasn’t permanent, the problem would still exist once Marya stopped painting, but it brought her comfort for the time being.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your royal highness” Kaz’s raspy voice brought her back to the present. His rage and disdain were barely leashed. She turned in time to catch the surprised look on Nikolai’s face. She might have thought it was funny if she wasn’t so scared of what Kaz could do.

“Good morning, are my general and I late?” Nikolai schooled his feature into a charming grin. “Though, you know, I was under the impression that Kings couldn’t be late, everyone else is simply early.”

Just when Y/N thought it was impossible, Kaz’s eyes darkened further. Nikolai had managed to make him angrier somehow. Kaz sneered, “You are late.” They were in for a horrible day.

The air felt colder than it had a few minutes prior to the Ravkans’ arrival. Kaz continued, “The first part of the job was a success. However, that was the easy part.” He sent a pointed look her way. “The next part will require everyone to follow the plan to the letter.”

She flinched. Kaz isn’t mad. He is livid. She moved away from the open doors opting to take place on the arm of the couch where Wylan and Jesper were still lounging. Jesper reached for her, letting his hand rest on her thigh, giving it a small squeeze as if he felt her distress. She was thankful for that small gesture. It would help her endure Kaz’s wrath.

“I still need time to figure everything out. These blueprints do give us the layout of the factory and the warehouse, but we still don’t have the guards’ rounds schedule. We’ll also need to find out the shipment schedule.”

Inej interrupted him “I’ll take care of that. Just keep planning, I do quite enjoy your scheming face.” Y/N always loved getting a glimpse of their relationship. It was always subtle, but they clearly did love each other. It was endearing how much they did.

Kaz’s features seemed to soften a bit at that. “Of course, my darling. Perhaps General Nazyalensky can be of some assistance.”

Zoya nodded. “Sure, we’ll get you the information. Just make sure we have a way out with the plans and the prototypes we need.”

Kaz nodded and turned back to Y/N his gaze cold and hard. “You’re not done with your tailoring.” It wasn’t a question, it was a critic. She felt a chill travel down her back. “You have to finish this morning before either of you can leave the house.” He considered her for a moment. “Use your room. We can’t risk a servant seeing you like this.”

-----

They’d left the room a few minutes later. Y/N leading the way to her room at the Hendriks mansion. She had been quiet, practically ignoring him the whole way. Only turning to him once to check if he was following her. Her brows were furrowed. Nikolai wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or scared. Scared of what? Me? Or Brekker?

Nikolai now watched her from his seat at the end of the bed as she readied her tailoring kit. She had tailored her body back the night before, but she still had ways to go before she was sporting her beautiful features again. She had her back turned to him, her olive pants hugging the soft curves of her hips just right. Nikolai’s mind kept travelling back to the night before and the outfit the Grisha had chosen for the day wasn’t helping him at all. He wanted to rest his hands on her hips and pull her body to his. He wanted to feel her comforting curves pressed against him, closer than they had been the night before, the fabric of her skirt no longer in the way.

He watched her finally settle in front of the mirrored desk, raising her hands to her face. He was glad she was starting with herself. It would give him time to gain full control of his brain again. He observed the careful movements of her fingers for what felt like hours. He was grateful for the time she’d bought him, until he saw her face as she made her way to him. He couldn’t help but glance at her full lips. He wondered just how different it would feel to kiss her now. Saints, I forgot just how naturally gorgeous she was. The urge to pull her closer was threatening to overwhelm him.

“So, I guess I’m only undoing my own tailoring? Not Genya Safin’s? You still need to look like Sturmhond.” She sounded guarded.

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle how handsome I really look.” He saw her jaw tick. Saints, what a stupid thing to say. And why did I wink at her again? She’s obviously uncomfortable.

He watched her carefully as she came to a stop, standing between his thighs. Nikolai could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She was standing so close he worried she could hear it. If she did, she made no mention of it. “This is gonna hurt. Tell me if you need a break.” She sounded determined; all traces of her previous insecurity gone. He only nodded, not trusting his voice with her standing so close to him, her floral scent drifting his way due to the soft breeze coming from the open window.

Her fingers were surprisingly cold against his skin. He felt the familiar itch of tailoring as she started before the pain of bone remodeling fully settled in. He tried to stay as still as possible, focusing on the concentration etched in the girl’s features instead of the pain. He felt her set his jaw back, making sure Sturmhond’s characteristically pointed chin was just right. She had made a few adjustments the night before, but she hadn’t done any major alterations. He kept watching her as she set the rest of his face back. Her shirt had slipped dangerously lower on her chest as she worked. The small bow coming lose. It was driving Nikolai completely crazy. He wanted to reach out and finish untying the damned strings. He didn’t think he could take much more of this absolute torture. She was almost done with reworking the bone when he saw her bite her bottom lip, completely lost in her work. He was about to finally lose the last sliver of decency he had been holding on to for the last hour when she straightened up suddenly. She backed away to take in her work.

“I think that should be it for facial structure. I’ll work on your eyes next, and I’ll finish with your hair.” She seemed more at ease now. Whatever had been bothering her almost forgotten.

She took her place back between his legs reaching up to his face once more. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake.” Nikolai blurted out. He could’ve sworn he saw hurt flash in Y/N’s beautiful green eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He must have imagined it. He saw her straighten her spine, her shoulders tensing up.

“Whatever, we got out. We got the job done. It doesn’t matter.” Any scrap of ease she’d gained was gone as she turned her back to him, taking a few steps towards the mirrored desk. Why did you have to open your mouth? Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai the Bastard. Pretender. Nikolai the fool. He had clearly upset her.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you. Brekker told me you worked at one of the pleasure houses before… I just – I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

She whirled back towards him. Fury burning in her deep green eyes. “He had no right.” she hissed. Her rage melted quickly however, leaving her looking panicked. Nikolai saw her hands start to shake before she clenched her fists.

Another blunder. “He only told me because I asked about your tattoo.” Her hand flew to the bare skin of her arm hiding the iris burned into her skin from him. I am only making it worse, he realized. I should really learn to stop talking so much.

She lowered her head. “He’s going to send me back.” Her voice was trembling. She sounded absolutely terrified at the idea. Nikolai wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her. Why would she think that? Surely Brekker wouldn’t do that. She’s a corporalnik. If Brekker is actually stupid enough to part with such a gifted Grisha, she could have a place with the Second Army. She could have a place in Ravka… She could have a place with me.

“You could–” Nikolai didn’t get to finish his sentence. Inej had opened the door and walked in carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

“Figured, you two were probably hungry!” Her warm smile faltered when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Everything alright?”

“Thank you Inej. You are absolutely right!” She laughed; all traces of her panic gone. “I’m starving. I could eat a stack of waffles as tall as you!” A talented corporalnik and actress, Nikolai thought.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

[tellmealovestory]

Cake

Summary: The wedding plans continue as you and Bucky try to decide on a cake flavor.

Notes: It’s been awhile and I’m a little rusty. Part of Something More.

Warnings: Food mentions obviously, but other than that none.

“Bucky!” You laughed, nudging his knee beneath the table. “You’re supposed to share that.”

Mouth full with red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting didn’t stop him from answering. “Maybe you should eat it faster.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“You sure about that?” A goofy grin on his face, a dab of white frosting stuck to the corner of his mouth and you couldn’t believe this was the man child you were about to spend the rest of your life with.

You couldn’t wait.

Lightly swatting his hand away from the sliver of a sample he had left you with you scooped the red velvet cake onto your fork, popping it into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully as you tried to figure out if you liked it more or less than the previous sample; a simple vanilla bean cake that had left your mouth watering when you paired it with the best buttercream frosting you had ever tasted.

Without waiting for you or Ava, your expert baker to explain the next sample he dived into the next piece, a carrot cake paired with the same cream cheese frosting you were giving serious consideration to marrying if your marriage with Bucky didn't work out.

“Yes I’m sure,” you laughed, answering his question. “We’re supposed to be taking our time and keeping track of what we like and don’t like.” You gestured down to the small spiral notebook that rested between your elbows. Two neat columns with a pros and cons list for each of the samples you were working your way through.

So far the only thing written down was a note of no written in Bucky’s messy handwriting next to the mint chocolate chip cake. And next to that in an even sloppier scrawl were the words tastes like toothpaste.

It hadn’t of course, but no matter how much you had tried to convince him of it the mint chocolate cake was out.

“Hard to keep track when all you’re doing is eating the frosting,” he teased, leaning back into the chair, a self satisfied smirk on his face before he thought to add, “Carrot cakes a no.”

Ignoring him you took a sip of water before trying it. Warm spices burst onto your tongue reminding you of autumn days with him by your side and when you bit into a plump raisin you knew that this cake had serious potential of being the one. Closing your eyes for a second you let the spices dance on your tongue as you cut off another sliver.

Carrot cake at a wedding was a polarizing option, but you were willing to take that chance with this piece. It was that good.

“I’m eating more than just the frosting,” you retorted once you swallowed your second bite of cake. It was mostly true.

When you had first started the first bites you had taken were of the frosting, but in your mind it was the best part of the dessert. Whipped frostings, American buttercream, cream cheese, ganache, you weren’t picky. You had always been that way, anytime you went out with Bucky and split a dessert you always dove into the frosting first while he worked his way through the filling. But this wasn't just any dessert, this was your wedding cake, a day you had been thinking about non stop since he had proposed to you on that random Tuesday night. And once you had bit into one of Ava's creations you had been unable to stop eating the cake, each sample somehow better than the last.

“I think the carrot cake has potential and with the cream cheese frosting it could be a hi-,” you started, words getting cut off with a laugh when you turned to Bucky who was shaking his head no, an exaggerated frown on his face.

“Baby, no,” he whined as he set his fork down on the plate with a soft clink. “Nobody likes raisins.”

Parting your lips to interject that you liked raisins, he beat you to it, “‘Cept you. You really wanna serve our friends and family a cake full of raisins?”

Ava interjected, a woman with the patience of a saint when it came to dealing with you and your varied tastes said, "We can omit the raisins. Some people choose to fill it with pineapple and walnuts." Pushing her glasses up her small nose she glanced between you searching for a compromise that would please not only both of you, but also your wedding guests. She was good at her job and as her words sank in you wondered how much extra you'd have to pay her to have her come over and settle your movie night disputes.

At the mention of juicy pineapples and the added crunch of walnuts in an already delicious cake your mouth watered, but Bucky was quick to shut that suggestion down too.

“Nut allergies.”

"You're not allergic to nuts. What about the pineapple at least?"

"What about our guests? No.”

Chewing on your lower lip you knew that he was right, something you weren't thrilled about telling him, but you also knew that it was possible to still have it without adding the nuts or pineapple or even raisins that he was set against.

You had never thought that trying to find a cake for the wedding would be so complicated. Not only did you have to think about yours and Bucky's likes and dislikes, but you also had to take into account potential food allergies of your guests as well as trying to find something that would please the majority if not everyone.

Ava jotted down a quick note and cleared her throat sensing that the carrot cake was a no go even if you weren't ready to give up. Pointing down to the next sample and explaining what it was you half listened, grabbing your pen and in big letters that took up a quarter of the page you wrote yes next to the carrot cake.

“For someone who said they didn’t care about the wedding planning you sure have a lot of opinions, Bucky.”

He chuckled, the tone low and meant only for you he murmured, “What can I say. Picking out a cake is a lot more interesting than choosing silverware and thinking up wedding favors.” Leaning over he pressed his sugar coated lips to the side of our head in a kiss that was as sweet as the frosting you had been inhaling all afternoon.

The last sample lined up was a confetti cake bursting with the bright colors of greens, reds, pinks, oranges, yellows and blues. The small rectangle that sat on the plate made you feel happy just looking at, not even Bucky's amused expression, smirk curling up those stupidly plump lips of his or the memory of the way he had teased you when you first suggested this, asking if this was for your wedding or tenth birthday party could dampen your spirits. Eagerly diving into the piece your eyes closed in bliss and immediately you knew. This was the one.

And even better was the way that Bucky was nodding his head as he swallowed his bite. Finally you thought, a piece that you both had managed to agree on.

Ava beamed a smile at you seeming to know that after an hour of tasting and years in the business the difficult part of her job was almost over. Shuffling through a pile of papers and photographs she slid over a few glossy photos showing the same cake you were eating in different iterations. Naked with minimal frosting, coated in rainbow sprinkles, fondant flowers cascading down the side even one covered in a thick layer of fondant topped with two macarons on top.

"It's not bad," Bucky settled on, popping the last few crumbs into his mouth.

"Could this be the one?" Ava asked, pen poised over her pad, ready to finalize the details.

Licking the frosting from your lips you turned your attention to Bucky. A silent conversation was had, a perk to having known each other most of your lives.

Mentally you went over one more time the samples you had indulged in.

The carrot cake and mint chocolate chip cake were out despite your best attempts at getting him to change his mind. The vanilla bean cake had been simple, but delicious, an instant crowd pleaser as had the red velvet cake, one that had been so moist it had melted as soon as it touched your tongue, much like the double chocolate cake. And there had been the last one and so far your personal favorite, the confetti cake.

The silent conversation stretched on, Ava sat still, pen still poised above her pad before clearing her throat and suggesting, "Of course you don't have to decide today, but the sooner the better."

A shrug of your shoulders as you left the decision up to Bucky.

"We've decided." Mischief danced in his eyes and curled his lips up into a smirk that screamed trouble. “The cream cheese frosting.”

“Excellent choice,” Ava praised, “Which cake are we pairing this with?”

Turning that mischievous look in your direction and with a straight face nonetheless he managed to say, “No cake. Just the frosting.”

Whatever you had thought he was going to say it wasn’t that. Ava had the decency to look bewildered, glancing between you, the poor woman’s expression growing more confused the longer it took you to find your thoughts.

“Bucky!” You spat out, hand slapping his shoulder. Choking back a laugh and willing your face to stop burning you tried to find the words to apologize on behalf of this man child.

For a beat that felt more like an eternity nobody said anything.

“That not what we agreed on?” Bucky asked, his question caused your face to warm to temperatures that rivaled that of hot lava. Beneath the table you kicked at his ankles while thinking of the numerous ways you were going to get him back for this as soon as you left.

“I’m so sorry. That is not what we agreed on.”

Ava was still flustered, but trying her best to appear professional.

“Possible to get extra frosting on the cake?” Bucky asked and for a brief second he seemed to be taking this more seriously.

A quick nod of her head and she jotted it down, underlining it twice. “We can do that, of course it will be extra.”

“The more frosting the better. Wanna make sure there’s plenty when I feed you that first piece.” His mischievous smirk widened into a full blown smile and this time you didn’t hold back.

“James!” You tried to glare at him, but it faltered when that stupid, beautiful, man child turned his smile on you. “We talked about this and you are not shoving cake in my face.”

“We’ll see.”

For a second that felt more like an eternity your surroundings faded into the background when your gaze locked on his.

No longer could you hear the hustle and bustle of the bakery. No pans clanging as they slid in or out of ovens, no voices rising and falling, no bell jingling overhead as customers streamed in. Nor could you smell the sugar of frosting or the sweetness of the cake samples, no richness of freshly baked bread. Nor could you hear the sound of Ava’s pen tapping against her notepad in rhythmic short bursts.

All you could hear was the steady in and out of Bucky’s breath next to you, the low timbre of his voice when he murmured, “Sweetheart.” All you could see were those sparkling blue eyes of his as they searched yours. All you could feel was the gentleness of his touch when his fingers stroked across your still scorching cheek.

No longer was it you, Bucky and Ava sitting in a back room in a bakery in Brooklyn discussing cake options.

For a few blissful, brief seconds it was just you and Bucky, lost in one others gazes.

All too soon though you were being hurtled back to reality when Ava cleared her throat for the second time that day, breaking you both out of your trances. A knowing look rested on her face, one that you had come to recognize as the same one Natasha and Steve and both of your parents used to shine down on you when your stares lasted a little too long for just friends. A look that seemed to say they had never seen two people more meant for each other.

“Have you decided on a cake?” She asked in a not unkind way.

You got the feeling she was ready to be rid of you both and when Bucky’s hand searched out yours beneath the table, the light touch sending a thrill through you you couldn’t help but feel ready to leave and get him alone.

Another glance in his direction, another silent conversation.

Out of the samples you had tried there were only two you had been able to agree on whole heartedly. They’d not only be crowd pleasers, but you also wouldn’t have to worry about food allergies with them either.

The first was the confetti cake. Vanilla bursting with bright pops of color it had been light and airy, reminding you of his mom’s homemade cakes and all the hours you had spent sitting on their kitchen counters licking the spatulas clean of the batter and watching with rapt attention as she frosted the cake, always giving you the first slice much to Bucky’s annoyance. Paired with a thin layer of vanilla buttercream that Ava had mentioned would pair perfectly with champagne you had been sold after one bite. Even better was that he had seemed to enjoy it as much as you had.

The second had been a double chocolate cake smothered in ganache and that Ava said usually came sprinkled with chocolate shavings on top, every chocolate lovers dream she had said. It had melted on your tongue after the first bite and you swore you had never tasted a chocolate so rich before.

“We have,” Bucky said slowly and for the first time today taking it seriously. “We’ll do the chocolate cake.”

“Perfect!” Ava gushed, jotting it down as she bobbed her head.

As her and Bucky talked amongst themselves finalizing details and asking follow up questions you leaned against his side, mentally crossing another thing off on your wedding to do list as the date grew ever closer.

[tennessoui]

obikin 28,11 :3

kit to kit: oh, 28, knocking on the wrong door, that can be a cute modern quirky au

kit to kit: yeah totally sure !!! you know what it could also be? 4.2k of dark canon AU that is dub con due to identity issues that definitely ends with anakin tied to a bed with future plans of stockholm syndroming him!!!

(so read at your own risk here this is definitely on the darker side of these prompt fills)

28. Knocking On The Wrong Right Wrong Door AU (4.2k)

The storm’s picked up to dangerous levels by the time Anakin and his padawan have picked their way out of the smoking rubble of their ship and made it into the nearby town.

“Think of it this way!” Anakin yells over the howl of the wind. “The rain’ll put out the rest of the fire!”

The look Ahsoka gives him is cold enough to freeze the rain that’s pelting down on them.

“I hope Master Windu grounds you for destroying another one of the Temple’s ships,” she snips at him, looking deeply unimpressed with his dramatic expression of hurt and betrayal.

“No one keeps count of that stuff, Snips,” Anakin grins. “And anyway, if I get grounded, you’d definitely be grounded with me. As my Padawan.”

“I’d be promoted, actually. They’d knight me on the spot the first time I come back with all my ships intact.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to shake him to his bones and a seriously bright flash of lightning that connects with a wind-swept tree next to them.

“Shelter!” Anakin yells over the renewed rain. “Come on, Ahsoka!”

The town is small, but there has to be some sort of hotel or lodge or--

“We don’t have any credits, Master!” Ahsoka cries, running after him.

She’s right. All their funds were in their ship, and neither of them had thought to grab them.

Kriff it all.

He changes course as soon as they get to the outskirts of the village.

He pounds on the door of the first cottage they come across. Either no one’s in or they’re particularly unfriendly, because the door stays firmly shut.

He hits the wood harder, setting up a constant rhythm. In a second, they’ll run to the next house, but there’s something about this place that feels right. Surely if only Anakin could knock loud enough to be heard over the storm--

The door cracks open and warm yellow light spills out over the doorstep.

“What?” The man asks stiffly. Anakin can only see a sliver of his face--one blue eye, dark red hair, and a beard.

“Good evening,” Anakin says, putting on his best Jedi voice. “I am seeking shelter from the storm for myself and my companion. We--”

“There’s an inn next to the school in town. Goodnight.”

Anakin wedges his foot in just before the man can close the door. “Please sir, we don’t have any credits--”

“Unfortunate. Goodnight.”

“Please, sir. My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a General in the War. Shelter us tonight and the Jedi Order will see you repaid in full!”

The man pauses and looks him up and down slowly. The door opens a little wider. “Skywalker?” He asks, sounding suspicious.

Anakin nods eagerly. He doesn’t particularly like dropping his name like that, especially not on strange planets, but he needs to get his Padawan out of the storm. “Anakin, yes. We won’t hurt you or anything, sir. I swear.”

“Come on, Anakin,” Ahsoka says from behind him. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Someone else will let us in.”

The man tears his gaze away from Anakin, the first time he’s done so this entire time, and looks over Ahsoka as well. He opens the door even farther. “I’ll let you in,” he decides and Anakin has to fight the loud sigh of relief. “But I would like you to give me your weapons for the night, please.”

The man looks back to Anakin with a smile. It changes the lines of his face, softens them until the man looks pleasant instead of harsh. He has a nice smile. He has a really, really nice smile.

“No--” Ahsoka starts to say, sounding offended, but Anakin, still dazed by the flash of the man’s teeth, is already saying, “Yeah, of course. Here you go,” and giving his lightsaber to the man as soon as he opens the door all the way.

“Thank you, Anakin,” the man replies with another one of those smiles. Anakin can feel his face heat up at the way his name sounds rolling off this man’s tongue. “And thank you, young one,” he says when Ahsoka reluctantly thrusts her own lightsabers towards him.

“I’m not young,” Ahsoka takes great offense and the man looks apologetic.

“‘Soka,” Anakin reprimands immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

She stares at him in astonishment. He doesn’t tend to correct her that harshly, even when she’s been snippier to foreign dignitaries. But the man doesn’t deserve an attitude from either of them. He’s letting them stay in his house! He’s gorgeous! He’s going to house them out of his own generosity for the night! He’s very, very fit!

“The sitting room is just down the hall and to the right,” the man says, with a tilt of his head. Anakin obediently pulls Ahsoka along. “I’ll just go grab you some dry clothes to change into.”

Behind him he hears the man lock the door. That’s good. Safety is important and he obviously seems a little paranoid. It’s now Anakin’s full time mission to make sure the man knows he can trust him. Them.

Them.

“I have a really bad feeling about this, Anakin,” Ahsoka hisses as he practically shoves her down the hallway and into the sitting room, which looks nice and cozy. There’s a couch and everything, with a Holo projector balanced on an old looking low table.

“I’m feeling much better about this than about our odds in that storm,” Anakin argues back in an undertone. There are footsteps above them, so the man’s bedroom must be on the second floor. Anakin wonders what it looks like, and Ahsoka seems to catch on with where his thoughts are because she hits him on the shoulder.

“You’d know what I’m talking about if you were thinking with your brain instead of your lightsaber, Master.”

He opens his mouth to tell her how rude that is and also how very wrong, as Anakin can think with both, thank you very much, but the man appears in the room with them before he has a chance to.

“They won’t fit, obviously,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as if he’s embarrassed to have surprise guests in his house and not have their correct sizes in his closet. “But anything’s better than what you’re wearing now, I thought.”

“Yeah!” Anakin says eagerly. Ahsoka gives him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms. “I mean,” he coughs. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

The redhead gifts Anakin another one of his smiles. This one makes his blue eyes crinkle, which just might end up being his cause of death. Enshrine him in the Jedi Temple and at the plaque on his fee put “Here Lies Anakin Skywalker: Dead Because An Attractive Stranger Treated Him With Human Decency”.

His padawan rolls her eyes and takes her proffered stack of clothes. The man shows her where the fresher is and she stalks into it.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologizes immediately when the man turns to look at him with a lost look. “She’s just mad at me for crashing our ship. We were flying fine one minute and the next we have to make this emergency landing that turns out to be a bit--hard on the landing. And….you didn’t ask, did you? Kark. Sorry.”

The man smiles again with an amused shake of his head. “It’s alright, Anakin, I was wondering anyway.” He holds out the clothes for Anakin to change into and Anakin grabs them because it’s something to do that isn’t keel over from embarrassment.

Or, of course, kneel down to show this stranger how much he appreciates his kindness.

Anakin wills that thought--and it’s gorgeous mental image--away. He just hasn’t had sex in a while, not since he and Padme had gotten divorced. Usually, he needs that intimate connection with someone before he even thinks about sex, but maybe when he’s too horny it doesn’t matter anymore? Because he doesn’t even know this man’s name, but when their hands brush as he receives the stack of clothes, he feels as though the lightning from outside is shooting down his spine.

“Um.” He says, like the intelligent war general he is.

Has the man moved closer? Are his eyes dark or is it just the lighting? Is he interested in men? Is he interested in Anakin? Also, what is his kriffing name?

Anakin glances down at the clothes, preparing to ask at least one of those questions, before he realizes something. “There’s no shirt here?” He asks instead of anything much more pressing.

The man’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Oh, blast,” he mumbles, already turning to leave. “I’ll go grab you one, I’m sorry, I knew I forgot something.”

Anakin finds himself feeling hopelessly endeared by the man’s awkward flailing. He wonders if he’s managed to fluster the man. The idea feels amazing in his mind.

Grinning to himself, he starts shucking off his wet clothes. He can at least change into the pants while he waits for the man to come back, and if his timing is right---

He’s tying the loose pants tight around his waist when he hears footsteps in the hall.

Yes.

He turns around, shirtless, to glance at the man in the doorway, who’s stopped to stare at Anakin.

Anakin tries not to preen too obviously. Jedi training has done ridiculous things to the muscles of his back and chest, and he wants the man to look. To appreciate. To want.

And the man looks like he does. The man looks like he wants a lot.

There’s something dark and dangerous and wild and unrestrained in those eyes. Anakin wants closer.

He drops his shoulder and turns to face the man completely, letting him look his full. His gaze feels like a brand on every part of Anakin it touches. His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt he’s holding when Anakin stretches his arms above his head as he yawns in a pathetically fake manner.

The man takes a couple of steps forward and Anakin stills in anticipation. He had thought he’d looked beautiful smiling, but this--this naked, dangerous want for Anakin that clouds his face--is so much more attractive. It would take one word from the man and he’d be on his knees. His back. His front. He’s not picky, he’s too busy feeling like his whole body is a live wire.

The door opens and Ahsoka’s deeply unimpressed tone effectively snaps the tension in the room. “What are you doing.”

“Getting dressed!” Anakin yelps, taking the shirt the man extends to him and putting it on immediately.

The man sends Ahsoka an unreadable but dark look before blinking a few times and smiling at her. Whatever had been on his face is gone and Anakin can’t help but think that he must have imagined it.

“Please, sit. Are you hungry?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. “Fixing you two a meal would be the least I can do for the galaxy’s heroes.”

Anakin flushes and preens as he follows the direction, the man’s praise wrapping like a warm blanket around his mind.

Ahsoka is less taken in, even as she settles in on the couch next to Anakin. “You could tell us your name,” she says, arms crossed. The look is ruined by the way the gray tunic the man has given to her is big enough to fall off one of her shoulders.

The man freezes for a second, barely noticeable if Anakin was not watching him as intently as he is. Then the stranger’s shoulders droop for a second and he looks so sad that actually Anakin doesn’t care if he never learns the man’s name. He’ll call him Dear for the rest of his life.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man eventually murmurs, sitting delicately on the arm of the comfortable looking chair and giving them a half-sort of smile. “At your service.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow at the name that feels like it should be familiar. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. It’s pretty. He likes it.

Ahsoka jumps to her feet. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” she says and turns to Anakin as if that’s supposed to mean something to him. He blinks up at her in confusion. “You’re the Jedi that Fell after Qui-Gon Jinn died!”

Anakin rises immediately, brain trying to process this new information. Yes. Yeah. Obi-Wan Kenobi. They’d met. They’d met on Tatooine. Kenobi had been Qui-Gon’s padawan. He’d killed Maul after Maul killed Qui-Gon. And then...he’d left the Order. Anakin had been assigned another Master. He’d forgotten all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I didn’t Fall,” Obi-Wan Kenobi corrects from his place on the chair. “Please, sit down.”

“You left the Order with Dooku!” Ahsoka accuses. “And you’re trying to tell me you didn’t Fall?”

Anakin’s hand goes to his belt automatically, but he doesn’t have his lightsaber. He’d given it to Obi-Wan.

“Look at my eyes, young one,” Obi-Wan demands in a cold tone. “Are they Sith-gold?”

Anakin hesitates. Obi-Wan has a point. His eyes are blue. And surely they’d know if there was another Sith afoot in the galaxy. Sith don’t like keeping quiet about themselves, from everything Anakin’s learned about them.

“You’re old enough to know how to hide that,” Ahsoka challenges immediately, which makes Obi-Wan wince.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He asks with a forced laugh. Then he looks at Anakin, and his face turns pleading. “Anakin,” he says gently, slowly, Ah-na-kin, “I’m not lying. Please believe me. I--I didn’t leave the Order to join the Sith. I left because they wouldn’t allow me to train you, Anakin.”

Anakin feels like the shipwreck from an hour ago caused less whiplash than these few sentences. “Me?”

“Qui-Gon begged me to train you as he lay dying in my arms,” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches and his face looks sad again. He closes his eyes as if to ward off the memory and when he opens them again they look wet. “When they wouldn’t allow me to, I realized there was nothing in the Order left for me. Dooku, my master’s master, came to me and asked me to leave with him. I had no idea that he would Fall. As soon as I realized what he had become, I ran. That’s why I’m here, Anakin. Please believe me. I have no involvement in the war, on either side.”

Force help him, but he does. He does believe him. He looks so honest, so heartbroken. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi? He can’t really say he remembers enough about what Kenobi had looked like all those years ago to know if the man in front of him could be an older version of the Padawan he’d met. He doesn’t actually remember anything about Kenobi, except--

“Hey, wait a second, you called me a pathetic lifeform!” Anakin says indignantly, a nine-year-old’s rage welling up in him at the memory.

Obi-Wan blinks at him and then bursts into laughter. It sounds like rocks, sliding into the ocean. Sith don’t laugh like that. He can’t imagine Ventress laughing like that. Or laughing at all, aside from a sinister chuckle.

Obi-Wan wipes the wetness from his eyes and grins at Anakin. “I’d forgotten about that,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Anakin pouts. “I was standing right there.”

“Making moon-eyes at Queen Amidala, yes,” Obi-Wan raises a sardonic eyebrow. “I thought you were sufficiently distracted. She was quite prettier.”

Anakin’s first instinct is to say, I’m prettier, but that’s not actually appropriate, and maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t agree with him anyway.

“Do you believe me, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asks, turning to her while Anakin is working on controlling his flushed face.

Anakin’s padawan is still standing, but looks unsure. “I...I don’t know.”

“Then we can talk more about it over a cup of tea,” Obi-Wan decides, standing up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

As he walks past the couch to get through a door that must lead to his kitchen, he brushes his hand along Anakin’s shoulder and neck.

Anakin would like to say he handles this touch with grace and aplomb as befitting a Jedi Knight, but the look Ahsoka gives him makes him feel much more like a pathetic lifeform than a Jedi Knight.

“We can trust him,” Anakin mutters to her. “I remember him.”

“It’s been years, Anakin,” Ahsoka mutters back. “Even if you remember everything he’s ever said to you, he could be a completely different person. He probably is.”

“It’s just a night, Snips,” he reasons. “And there’s no alternatives. And I think we can trust him.”

She hesitates for a second and then exhales. “Fine,” she agrees. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Anakin grins in response.

----

Halfway through tea, Ahsoka starts nodding off.

“Crash landing takes a lot out of anyone,” Obi-Wan says sympathetically with a wink at Anakin, who puffs up in indignation. Before he can say anything in defense of his very necessary landing, Obi-Wan has taken Ahsoka’s tea and put it gently on the table. “Come on, girl, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. I have a spare room.”

Ahsoka goes easily enough, in a way that makes Anakin feel bad for how short-tempered he’s been with her in the past few hours. He’s been stressed, she’s been stressed, but she’s just a youngling still. She’s probably been exhausted for so long now.

“Could you put our cups in the sink, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks as he leads the Togruta out of the sitting area.

Anakin complies immediately, carrying each mug like they’re something special and precious before dumping out the contents into the sink and filling each with water.

He thinks about washing them and putting them into cupboards, but he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to think that’s he’s rifling through his cupboards or anything, so he goes back to the living room to wait for him.

Obi-Wan returns just a few seconds later, smiling slightly to himself.

“What?” Anakin asks immediately. If there’s a joke that Obi-Wan finds funny, Anakin wants to hear it too.

“Just something Ahsoka said,” he replies, looking fondly down at Anakin.

Anakin’s feeling too persistent to be sidetracked by that though, so he raises both his eyebrows.

“That she’d skewer me on her lightsabers if I besmirched her master’s honor, no matter how much he asks for it,” Obi-Wan recalls with a perfectly straight face.

Anakin buries his blushing face in his hands instantly. “Force,” he mumbles.

Obi-Wan laughs again. It’s just as pretty as last time and it makes Anakin peek through his fingers.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan soothes. “I told her I thought I would be quite good at resisting any sort of begging from you.”

Anakin’s first thought is, of course, Want to bet?, but that’s hardly a thing to say to a near stranger. Even if he is very handsome and he has looked at you like you’re a feast and he’s a starving man just a few hours ago.

No, Anakin. Bad Anakin.

“So that’s me for the couch then, yeah?” He says in a totally normal and not at all high-pitched voice, standing so he can go fetch a blanket.

The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes freezes him where he is. They’re filled with that same dark want from before paired with a promise. “If you’d like,” Obi-Wan murmurs and then just to make sure there’s no confusion, he holds out his hand. “Or….”

Anakin doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s interlacing their fingers.

-----

When Anakin comes to, there’s light streaming in through the windows in Obi-Wan’s bedroom. He grumbles and tries to roll over.

He can’t.

Both of his arms have been securely tied over his head, and there’s a gag in his mouth.

Really, his first instinct should be panic and not a sort of sleepy arousal at what Obi-Wan plans to do with him like this.

But no. The panic doesn’t set in until he sees Obi-Wan by the window, deathstick held between his lips as he listens to a holocall.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, exhaling a line of smoke out the window before turning to look at Anakin. He nods his head in greeting, as if this is a normal scenario. “Yes, he’s just woken up.”

When he turns his head back to the window, the yellow of his eyes catch on the sunlight and gleam bright gold.

“The padawan has been dealt with,” Obi-Wan continues, which makes Anakin lose any sense of calm he still felt. He’s cut off from the Force so he can’t feel his bond with Ahsoka. Fear and fury wash through him equally at the thought of Obi-Wan, this Sith lord traitor and dirty liar, dealing with Ahsoka.

Oh Force, she’d been right. She’d been so right. Had she paid the cost for Anakin’s blindness?

“Yes, Master. Tell Sidious he can expect his Chosen One kneeling before him in chains as soon as he deposits the credits into my account. I’ve sent multiple pictures already as proof that Anakin Skywalker is alive and bound.”

Anakin tries to yell through the gag, but it’s ineffective and only causes Obi-Wan to look at him with an amused eyebrow raise. “And awake,” the Sith traitor purrs into the comm. “Must go now. Remember, Dooku. My credits.”

With that, he ends the comm and stubs out his deathstick with a flourish, walking around to stand at the foot of the bed with all the grace of a predator who knows its prey is well and truly cornered.

“Good morning, darling,” Obi-Wan croons. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

Anakin glowers at him. He’s never hated anyone more than he hates Obi-Wan Kenobi at this moment.

“Your padawan is safe,” Obi-Wan starts, sitting on the bed by Anakin’s midsection and tracing a hand down his bare chest. Anakin twitches away from him. “No, really,” the Sith promises in a soothing voice. “I drugged her last night of course, but you have to admit she looked like she needed a full night’s sleep.”

The tea. Force, the tea. If Anakin had thought to check the tea, or to follow Obi-Wan into the kitchen and watch him make it, they wouldn’t be here in this position. He wouldn’t be here in this specific position. Force.

“And this morning while you slept, I carried her out to my ship--or Dooku’s ship, I suppose--and put her on route to the Jedi Temple. She’ll arrive in a day or so, probably. I even gave her food and drink to survive comfortably until then. There’s no need to worry.”

Anakin tries to convey the level of disbelief he has for that statement in a single glare. Obi-Wan shrugs languidly, hand still touching his skin in a way he’d enjoyed last night. His body hasn’t gotten the notice that it shouldn’t enjoy Obi-Wan’s touch anymore, which is making this whole bound and gagged thing really awkward.

“Well, for her, I suppose.” Obi-Wan chuckles and pulls his hand away so he can light another deathstick. He takes a drag and then exhales. “I’ll even let you comm her. It’s actually quite important that you do. You see, I told her that I would kill you if she tried to come back here without first going to the Temple. She seemed to believe me.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, as if they’re sharing a joke at Ahsoka’s expense.

“Like I’d kill you,” Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, shaking his head and bringing the deathstick back to his mouth. “I told her I’d let you comm her the second she lands. Of course, she will be surrounded by Jedi masters, who will be very interested in hearing my proposed trade deal, even if she isn’t. I will give them the name of Darth Sidious, my master’s master. I will give them proof enough to end the war and have him arrested and tried for his crimes. And they will give me you.”

Anakin feels his eyes widen at the words. It’s so unexpected that even if he weren’t gagged, he wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say.

“It’s perfect, really,” Obi-Wan murmurs, a hand coming up to stroke through Anakin’s hair. “Sidious thinks he is about to get his hands on you, as that has been the plan for weeks now. He has paid good money for you, you know. I almost feel bad for deciding to break our agreement. But you just fell apart so beautifully under my hands last night, darling. How can I give you up?”

Anakin shivers as the memory of last night washes over his mind. He’s never felt more ashamed and yet still guiltily pleased with his performance. The praise he's getting. Force it feels good to be praised.

“So Sidious thinks he will get you, the Jedi will get Sidious, Ahsoka will probably get knighted, and you will be where you belong,” Obi-Wan blows out smoke and then leans down to grin into Anakin’s face. Anakin has to tell himself not to look away. Those yellow eyes are filled with a recognizable lust. It had been so attractive last night. It’s still attractive now, if he’s being completely honest. Force, what is wrong with him?

Obi-Wan’s hand leaves his hair to press delicately on a new bruise on his throat. “You will be with me.”

[6sakusa]

‘worth more’ part 2, oikawa tōru.

warnings : implications of a toxic relationship, triggering break up themes?, me not proof reading, angst

part 3

you peered down at your hands where a thin layer of ice was struggling to form due to the flashing sheets of cold droplets that bombarded your skin in every way possible. how long had you been here again? you were unsure. you could barely differentiate your own tears from the rain, the only thing that was keeping you grounded was the sliver of moonlight that had cracked through the clouds. not even the stars were in the sky tonight and this was the kind of darkness that could swallow you whole, both mentally and physically.

you had been reminiscing on the time you’d spent with oikawa, as both his bestfriend and his girlfriend in an unforgiving loop. was this really it? was it all over? if you had known things would turn out like this then the day you realised how truly and utterly in love you were with the setter then maybe just maybe you would’ve been selfless for once and said no.

—

“what do you think is out there y/n-chan?” your lips curved into an unwilling smile, you couldn’t help it, not when you were around oikawa and he was once again babbling about one of his conspiracy theories. he’d always been a strong believer in aliens and area 51 and you couldn’t help but marvel at how adorable he was. the two of you had snuck out to the park after he woke you up at 2am begging you to come and watch the meteorite shower with him since iwaizumi had refused to get out of bed.

“i think there’s a lot of things out there that we don’t know of and we probably never will, i guess it’s scary in some sort of way, there could be a whole species that we have no clue about, but it’s also comforting to know we aren’t alone in this universe.”

oikawa was slightly taken aback by your answer, he’d expected you to tease him and maybe laugh while he would pout and try to defend his point. but instead you hadn’t spared him a glance even after all those words, he could see how infatuated you were with the sight before you. the night sky ablaze with brilliant blues and pinks which soared through the universe leaving a white fiery tail in its wake. the world had never been as enchanting as it was in this moment and neither had you.

he cursed himself for only noticing it now, the way your eyes widened and the beauty of nature reflected through them, the way your eyelashes looked so much more exaggerated with the shadow caused by the light spectacle from the heavens, the way your lips separated when you spoke about your interests, and the way you were so attentive when it came to his. it was all art, and the best moment of his life. yes, he truly was cursing himself for only now realising that he was so deeply in love with you.

“so you do believe in aliens?” he proped himself up on his elbows and turned to face you with his signature smirk, however you could tell that something had shifted in the atmosphere, something unfamiliar but welcoming. “i’m just saying there’s a probability.” you flicked his forehead causing the both of you to break out in a chuckle, everything had always been so easy between the two of you, it was natural.

there was something about being here now, with you by his side that made him invincible. if there was anything he wanted to ask the heavens for he knew now was the time to proclaim his wishes, he could feel the magic in the air tonight.

“you know y/n-chan, this meteorite shower has made me feel like i can do anything.” he stood admiring the sight before him as he knew it was a once in a lifetime event. you watched as he raised his hand to the air, your eyes followed his fingers which landed on the ball of silver that resided in the sky.

“i want to be the absolute best setter.” hope flooded his eyes and enthusiasm leaked out of his demanour. “so i’m going to do something no one else can do, one day i’m gonna set the moon.” he smiled with pride and you couldn’t help but adore him in that moment.

oikawa toru would set the moon one day, and you would do anything to be by his side to see it.

—

“y/n.” you heard the echo of a voice, so distant but so close, if you were any further in your own mind you wouldn’t have been able to decipher your own name. “hey y/n.” you felt a hand on your shoulder shake you back to your bitter reality. that meteorite shower had happened over a year ago and you would do anything to go back to that day, just one last time.

“iwaizumi.” you breathed out, moving your eyes to lock with that of the ace, you could see the worry laced in his features as his nose contoured while he evaluated your state. “you’re freezing.” he put a hand on your cheek, hissing at how the ice bit him back. he scrambled to take his coat off draping it over you in less than a second, of course he would, in his mind he was just looking after his bestfriends girl. you wondered if anything would change between you and iwaizumi once he learned about the outburst between you and oikawa a couple hours prior.

“what are you doing out here?” he began zipping up his jacket, doing everything in his power to stop you from falling ill but even he knew you were past that point. the way you were drenched and rain and your fingertips were so cold to the touch there was no doubt that you would wake up with an almost deadly cold the next morning and he was ready to beat himself up for not arriving to the scene sooner.

“i don’t know.” you whispered, even if you wanted to, you didn’t have the lung capacity to speak at a steady tone and the lump returning to your throat wasn’t making it any easier. “where’s oikawa? he never went home, i bet that bastard is still practicing.” he clicked his tongue ready to scold his bestfriend for overworking himself, and even more so for doing it to the point where he wasn’t aware that you were out here on the brink of freezing to death.

but at the mention of your ex-boyfriends name you couldn’t help but break down into tears once again, your heart only shattering further and your breathing becoming more frantic. “y/n? what’s wrong? why are you cr-“ then it hit him. of course oikawa was the reason that you were out here, staring out into some kind of void under the fury of tonight's weather. it seemed that you had the same idea that he had, only you had just thought of it first. there was a reason the setter had been radio silent on all forms of social media after school today, because he was in school overworking himself exactly as iwaizumi presumed. and there was no doubt you caught him in a bad mood, the ace shivered as he imagined the cruel words that oikawa had likely flung your way, he knew how mean the man could be when he was unhappy with himself.

“come on, come with me let me take you home.” he reached out to you, steadying you to your feet as the two of you began walking towards the direction of your house. even though he was being cautious with his words he couldn’t help but be extremely taken aback by the way your clothes were dripping onto the concrete floor. just how long had you been out here for? it had to be more than an hour, maybe even hours. he couldn’t imagine the mess you would leave behind as you trailed towards your bedroom. hopefully your parents wouldn’t penalise you for it once they had realised just the kind of state you were in. afterall it wasn’t your fault, it was his own and his shitty bestfriend’s fault. how could the two of them both not not come to your rescue sooner? he felt like a complete and utter idiot.

he waited for a moment outside of your house, watching the way you stopped in the doorway turning to him with nothing but sadness in your eyes and voice. “thank you, iwaizumi.” he smiled in return. he didn’t think you should be thanking him for human decency but nevertheless he bowed slightly before dashing off to the gym where he didn’t doubt oikawa would still be.

and when he got there he would make him answer for himself.

[butgilinsky]

built for a different universe // fw

warning; language, character death, angst if i’ve ever seen it

summary; in which, fred weasley’s name is pulled from the goblet of fire

word count; 5.3k+

fred x reader with a sliver of goerge x reader

cedric diggory who? jk, but let’s pretend that the twins are 17 in this scenario, and cedric diggory isn’t chosen for the triwizard tournament(: 

you had always been the rational one between the two of you. well, the three of you. the weasley twins were anything but rational when it came to basic logic outside of the classroom. they were the clowns of hogwarts, and they enjoyed every second of it. 

it did, however, make your role in their life just that much harder. 

you cared for the weasley twins more than you cared to admit at times. though molly and arthur thanked you endlessly for repeatedly pulling their sons out of trouble, fred and george argued that you limited their fun when they were away from their parents. 

there are times, however, that you being the more rational of the three of you came in handy. though neither boy would admit it aloud to you, they were thankful for your rational way of life sometimes. when they had gotten caught out in the dark forest after hours, with no idea of how to get out, they were endlessly thankful for you pulling them out just before they found out what truly lurked in the trees. 

you had deemed yourself as the caretaker of the weasleys at a young age. you met fred and george on your first train ride to hogwarts and quickly learned that you were going to have to bust your ass to keep these boys in line. they weren’t the type to follow the rules, but instead find the most interesting ways to break them. even after you had been sorted in to slytherin, and them into gryffindor, you had stuck by their side, and them, yours. 

when ron came to hogwarts just a few years later, you promised molly that you’d look after him, since she couldn’t exactly count on fred and george to keep ron out of trouble. the same agreement came around when ginny stepped onto platform 9 3/4. 

fast forward a few years, and you seemed to be the one that needed to be taken care of. 

you had told them that this was a shit idea. you told them every time they brought it up. you didn’t understand why they couldn’t just allow the goblet to spit out a name that wasn’t theirs. any name would’ve done just fine, but not theirs. 

though you got george to promise you to not put his in, you weren’t entirely convinced he was telling the truth. fred wa always the harder one to convince to do the rational thing over the fun thing. it also didn’t help that george was easily persuaded by his brother. 

“please, freddie.” you tried to push your best face forward, eyes wide and bottom lip pushed out ever so slightly. 

the same lip that he had traced with his thumb any time it puffed out. the same lip that he had taken between his own too many times to count. the same lip that brought him the utmost joy, the one that he looked forward to kissing at the end of every night and the start of every morning. 

the same lip you had been furiously chewing on through the drawing names ceremony. your leg was bouncing furiously, so much so that fred and george had to tell you to calm down, twice. george promised that he hadn’t put his name inside, but he knew his brother did. he knew that fred’s need to compete in the tournament was stronger than his guilt that he felt straight away after placing the piece of parchment into the goblet. 

you had been angry when george told you, but not as angry as fred had been for his brother’s betrayal. he claimed that he couldn’t help it, cracking under the pressure of your gaze and spilling out the truth in a matter of seconds.

but that was days ago. days that had passed and only added to the anxiety that bubbled in your stomach. the anticipation had been too much, too suffocating. even in the great hall, sat between the twins and across the table from ron and his two best friends, the anticipation felt like a weight had been placed on your chest, weighing you down to the bench as you hoped and prayed for any other name to come out of the goblet. 

“fred weasley.” though the entire room seemed to erupt in claps and cheers, a few congratulations thrown at the boy beside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. 

he was stunned, not expecting his name to come fumbling out of the cup in the middle of the room. he didn’t expect to be chosen, there was no way he would’ve actually been chosen. the chances were so slim, he thought you were ridiculous to be so worried about it. but then his name was being called through the great hall, and he couldn’t ignore the excitement bubbling in his chest. 

you did not feel excitement, though. your breath had escaped you, had you gasping for a new one. your leg had stopped bouncing, and your muscles had tensed. so much that fred had noticed, his wide grin faltering when you stood up abruptly, stepping over the bench and darting towards the door. 

snape had sent you a hard glare, but when you looked up at your professor and head of your house, he couldn’t ignore the sympathy bubbling inside of him. snape didn’t often show the children at hogwarts anything less than his tough exterior, not feeling much else besides distain and annoyance towards the kids, especially those outside of his house. but he had never seen you so distraught, and he knew how the calling of fred’s name must have shaken you, and decided to let you slip out of the large doors at the front of the hall.

when fred just stared at your retreating figure with a loss of words or thoughts of what to do, george stood up and followed you. he had paused for just a moment when he heard harry’s name following behind fred’s, but when the shock of a fourth name had passed through him, he was running out of the room to follow you. 

“y/n!” you stopped at the sound of your name echoing off of the walls. your heart sank into your stomach, your muscles relaxing with every passing second that made you feel like your body was giving up on you. 

your heart was racing, your breathing rapid and rigid as you fell into the arms of your best friend. 

“he’s a bloody idiot, y/n. you know that.” though they were meant to reassure you, perhaps pull a smile from you, they had your eyes welling up with a layer of tears that were bound to burst at any given moment. 

you weren’t surprised when george started to pull you in the direction of the gryffindor dormitories. you had been inside of the twins’ shared room more than you could recall, and he figured it was the only place you’d feel comfortable in your state of mind. there was no way you were going to cry into the chest of george weasley while running the risk of having your roommates burst in at any given moment. 

he expected you to fall into fred’s bed and pull the old knit blanket that you loved over your head, sob into the familiar pillow case until your idiot boyfriend returned from the great hall. he had been surprised when you fell into the opposite bed, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your head into your knees. 

“love, he’ll be alright.” george’s chest constricted at the sight of you so distraught. he had listened to you beg him the same way you begged fred not to put their names inside. you were more worried about the risk than you were excited about the reward. 

yes, you wanted fred and george to live their lives to the fullest. yes, you wanted their happiness above all else, but their happiness had been put on the back burner of your mind when their lives were at stake. 

you couldn’t lose the twins, you just couldn’t. you had never lived a day at hogwarts without them, and you weren’t going to start in your seventh year. you didn’t want to live in a world where one of the twins didn’t exist, and it just so happened that that very thought got through to george, not fred. 

when the door swung open and the boy of the hour walked inside, head held high with a wide grin spread across his face, you felt the weight of the world fall onto your shoulders. 

“i don’t know why you’re being so fussy. what’s done is done, love.” you stared at him in disbelief, unsure of who you were even looking at anymore. 

“what’s done is done? merlin, fred. she asks you to do one thing, and you can’t give her the decency-”

“she asks me to do loads more than just this one thing, georgie, and you know that. she wants us to sacrifice our youth to be some rigid, boring pricks!” you sniffled, pushing yourself onto your feet. you didn’t want to be in a room where you were being spoken about as if you weren’t even there. 

“merlin forgive me for not wanting to see you hoisted away in a bodybag, freddie.” you reached for the door but stopped when he grabbed your wrist, turning you around to face him. 

“why can’t you just be happy for me? you know how bad i wanted this, and you’re making me feel like i’ve turned over to the dark side or something.” your eyes found his, big and pleading for you to just give him this one thing. just this once. 

“i am happy for you freddie, but i don’t know if i can stand by and watch you offer up your life for some stupid title.” you pulled your wrist out of his hand and opened the door, almost annoyed to see the younger weasley siblings standing outside of the door. 

you pushed a small smile to your lips, contrasting the tears building up in your eyes that they both detected quickly. ron gave you a pained look, unsure of how he was supposed to handle all of this newfound news he had been given. you felt for him, truly, having a brother and a best friend entering the same deathly tournament. 

you ruffled ron’s hair with a hand, bringing a small smile out of the boy who had been looking to you for how he was meant to handle all of this. you had become an older sister to ron over the years, given that he saw you in and outside of school so often. 

“c’mon ginny, i’ll walk you back.” your hand fell to her shoulder, urging her to turn and walk back to her side of the dormitories. 

“y/n!” you turned over your shoulder, eyes latched onto the boy who was unsure of how you were leaving things. the two of you didn’t fight often, and when you did it was always resolved by the time you left one another. “i love you.”

you nodded, a pained look in your eyes telling him all he needed to know. he had royally fucked this one up, and there was no way of fixing it. 

“i love you too.” your voice was small, and you had turned back around and stalked off with ginny faster than he could rush forward and try to fix things. 

“you’ve made a mess for yourself.” ron huffed out, shoulders falling in defeat while he stalked off to his own room. 

it had taken you a few days to accept the fact that fred was going to compete in the triwizard tournament. you knew that it had been set into stone already, and there was no going back at this point. you had to support him, because with his head swimming with uncertainty of the terms the two of you had been on, he was going to be distracted. and this wasn’t a time that the weasley boy could afford to be distracted. 

you hadn’t been all that worried through the first phase of the competition. with charlie being a care taker for dragons, fred had his fair share of experience with the very creatures. he knew how to handle them, and that showed in his performance. 

he had retrieved the egg quicker than the other three competitors, and you had to stop yourself from kicking a fifth year for mumbling something about him having an unfair advantage and, as she called it, dumb luck. though george and ron snickered beside you, you felt anger bubble in your chest at the girl whispering to her friend just behind you. 

you hadn’t been given the opportunity to worry during the second round, given that you were the person dumbledore chose to tie under water for fred to find later on. yes, he had thought of putting george down there, but with ron already down there for harry to retrieve, he thought putting another weasley sibling at risk may have been a bit over the line. 

when you resurfaced, coughing out water that built up in your lungs, clinging onto your boyfriend, you had congratulated him in a breathless tone. he smiled widely at you, hugging you tightly just before dragging you over to the dock. 

george helped you up, though his attention quickly shifted back to the lake in search of his younger brother. you sat beside him, gripping onto the towel that you had been handed as the three of you waited anxiously for ron to pop up.

after he had, the weasleys were given the opportunity to breathe. everyone had made it through the first two rounds safe and sound. fred had won the round, finding you faster than the other contestants were able to found their respective people, and tackled you in a celebratory hug at the announcement. 

you had squealed in excitement when he lifted you and spun you in a circle, planting a passionate kiss onto your lips in front of everyone. the cheers had deafened in your ears, your focus solely on the boy in front of you, arms secure around your waist while you held his head in your hands. 

but then the last round came, and you were forced to stare at the front of a maze with no knowledge of what was going on the entire time. you sat with the weasleys, trying to reassure ginny and ron that everything would be okay. hermione and ron were anxious, that much was obvious, and you did your best to be there for them as well as ginny. 

george had the job of keeping you calm. he sat beside you, arm secure around your shoulders and tucking you into his side for as long as you needed. he made conversation with you while you waited for fred and harry to leave the maze. 

when they both appeared at the same time, the crowd erupted into a loud slew of claps and cheers. but you were frozen in your spot, smile absent from your face as your eyes locked onto your boyfriend lying flat on his back with harry hunched over him. 

“something’s wrong.” you told george, your hand practically crushing his when you pulled him down the steps with you. “georgie we have to go down there.” 

“okay, okay. let’s go.” 

“y/n, what’s-”

“you stay here. don’t move.” you told ron sternly, eyes wide and unwavering as you shifted them between him and ginny. “both of you, stay here.” 

ron nodded, though he was unsure of why you were so tense and stern in your command. he couldn’t see anything that you could, standing almost a foot shorter than you and having poorer eyesight. 

“don’t move, either of you.” george figured he’d throw one in there for good measure, hoping that both of you ordering the two to stay in their spot would work better than just one.

you ran down the steps, george in tow the entire way down. just before your feet hit the dirt, snape stepped in front of you, the same expression he always held evident in his features, except for the emotion in his eyes you didn’t often see. 

“miss y/l/n, i’m going to have to ask you and mr. weasley to go back to your seats.” you shook your head, anxiety brewing inside of you with every second that passed and no new knowledge of fred’s well being given to you. 

“professor, please.” when a man walked up to snape and leaned into his ear, you focused your attention and hearing into the man’s words. 

“keep everyone in their seats. a boy’s just been killed.” your body turned rigid, your eyes leaving snape’s to look over his shoulder, watching harry sob over fred’s body that hadn’t moved since he had reappeared in front of the entire crowd. 

“y/n.” george and snape spoke at the same time, but you shoved past both of them, eyes locked onto the same head of red hair that you had seen just hours prior. 

you remembered the way you had kissed him, muttering a soft “good luck, and be safe.” you had told him the same thing at the beginning of each round, threatening him if he dared to be anything less than careful. 

and here he was, lying just a few feet away from you, unconscious and unmoving. your feet took you over faster than your brain could process it. 

you sunk to your knees, shaky hands reaching out for the boy you had more love for than you could describe to anyone. you felt hands on your shoulders, though you shoved them off quickly and told the person to leave you alone. you weren’t sure how many people were watching, or how many had told you to step back, but you did know that you were ignoring each and every one of them. 

the sinking feeling in your chest had been worse than anything you’d ever felt before. you thought of every fight the two of you had in the past, none of them able to amount to the feeling that was currently tugging at your chest. 

george felt a similar feeling, brewing in his stomach and chest as he watched you wail over his brother. he told the people around you that it had been best to just leave you, none of them would be able to tear you away from fred even if they all worked together. 

“love.” george whispered, reaching out to grip your shoulder, though you flinched away from him as soon as he made contact. “love, you have to get up.” 

you shook your head, letting out a strangled sob as you gripped onto the shirt fred was wearing. you couldn’t let go, no matter how hard you tried. you didn’t want to leave him here, like this. there wasn’t anything you’d be going towards, leaving everything behind instead. there was no motivation to step away from fred.

“george.” george turned at the sound of his name, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision, but he was able to spot his younger brother and sister standing out in front of the rest of the crowd. 

“we told you to stay put!” george yelled, prying your eyes away from fred to look up at ron and ginny who stood a few yards away from you. 

you couldn’t find the words to say to the youngest weasleys. there wasn’t anything that came to your mind, no matter how hard you tried. you always found the words to reassure others, no matter the defeat you felt within yourself. 

this was the first time ron or ginny had seen you too stunned to find words, hands pressed lightly against fred’s cheeks, eyes filled with tears and lips parted with no sound passing through them. you racked your brain for something, anything, but came up with nothing. 

you felt another pair of hands on your shoulders, gripping tightly enough to pull you from your spot on the floor, the front of your pants now covered in dirt, as well as your hands. your cheeks were wet with tears, and your throat scratchy from yelling. 

you couldn’t recall the last few minutes. you weren’t sure what you’d said or done in the time that you were begging for fred to come back to you. the entire school, as well as two others, had seen you clawing at the boy beneath you, desperation evident in every move and cry. your housemates were stunned, never knowing you to be the soft one out of the three of you. none of them had even seen you shed a tear, let alone look so defeated, despite the circumstances. 

snape felt an unfamiliar feeling in his chest at the sight of you. the relationship he built with you was unlike any others with his students, even the ones in his own house. he knew your familial life wasn’t ideal, though that seemed to be a common thing amongst those in your house and the school overall. he had been there for you through your first few years at hogwarts. 

he had became a father you weren’t given the opportunity of having at a young age. he was a mentor that you never dreamed of having, and had given you the care that a parent usually gave to their child. he had never seen you like this, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to handle it, but he had to figure it out quickly for your sake. 

when snape tried to pull you away from fred’s body, you restrained against him, moving to kneel back down. he stopped you, wrapping his arms securely around you and allowing you to sink into his embrace. he had locked eyes with george, who was utterly defeated in this moment. how was he meant to care for you and his younger siblings while simultaneously going through the same thing he was meant to save you from? 

“no no no no, you can’t make me.” you struggled against snape one last time before his hand held the back of your head, securing you against his chest while you sobbed uncontrollably. 

“we’re going.” you shook your head, looking up at him with wide eyes filled to the brim with tears. 

“i can’t. ron- ginny- george. george.” you let out a strangled sob at the reminder that george was going through the same soul crushing feeling that you had been. 

you turned to find his eyes, watching his shoulders sink as he let the defeat catch up to him. he didn’t know how to take care of himself as well as three other people. he always had you and fred to lean on. he didn’t know what he was meant to do in this moment, and you caught onto that quickly. 

something flipped inside of you. you straightened your shoulders and wiped your cheeks, turning out of snape’s embrace and moving towards the weasley siblings. george’s head hung low, tucking it into your neck as soon as you were close enough to him. 

you held an arm out towards ron and ginny, who were quick to rush into the two of you. you held the three of them, sobbing and asking questions you didn’t have the answers to. you may never have had the answers, but they couldn’t stop from firing off the rhetorical questions. 

“c’mon.” you whispered softly, patting george on the back and pulling back form the three siblings. “we shouldn’t stay here.” 

the three of them nodded, allowing themselves one more moment with their lost brother before turning into each other for a needed sense of comfort. you were left with the last goodbye, chest tight with anticipation. 

you kneeled down beside the boy, pressing your lips against his one last time. you felt your heart clench when they didn’t press against yours with the same passion that yours had. your thumb ran across his cheek slowly, catching the tear you dropped in its wake. 

you were pulled back form him one last time, following behind the three that walked in the same direction as you, with hearts just as heavy as your own. 

a few hours later, you found yourself lying in fred’s bed, ron curled around your leg with his head in your lap. ginny was curled into your other side, arm secured around your abdomen and tears dried onto your shoulder. 

after hours of mourning the loss, and trying to fill the air with joy filled memories, the four of you were exhausted. nobody had expected to to see any of you for the rest of the night. hermione and harry stopped by to offer their condolences as well as help if it was needed, but ron could barely look at them for longer than ten seconds without bursting into tears again. 

harry tried to lighten the mood, even if it hadn’t worked at all, by letting you all know that fred had looked after harry through the entire competition. it didn’t surprise you, to hear that fred offered his wisdom and experience in order to help harry through this. after all, harry wasn’t even meant to compete in the entire competition. 

but now it was just the four of you, ginny and ron asleep on the small bed that belonged to fred while you and george sat opposite each other. you offered george a tired smile across the room, watching the corner of his lips turn up into a smile that he was clearly forcing to the surface. 

“i’m sorry, george.” your voice was scratchy, matching the feeling you felt at the back of your throat. 

“you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, love. you were right. we were fools to offer up our names to the goblet.” your heart thudded harshly against your chest, memories of your numerous attempts to stop them from putting their names in the goblet rushed to the forefront of your mind. 

george stood from his place on his own bed, moving to open the wardrobe tucked into the corner of the room the belonged to fred. your eyebrows pulled together as you unraveled yourself from ron and ginny. 

you carefully stood from the bed when you were sure you hadn’t woken them, watching them curl into the sheets and pillows that still had fred’s scent laced within them. a soft smile pulled at your lips at the sight before you turned back to george, watching him look for something. 

“georgie, what-”

“just let me find it, please.” you nodded, picking up on the desperation in his voice as he begged you to just give him a second. he moved from the wardrobe to the desk, opening every drawer and lifting every item, looking everywhere for something you were still unaware of. 

when he found it, you watched his shoulders relax. he stood straight up, eyes locked onto box sitting in the palm of his hand before holding out to you. the box wasn’t familiar to you, though the shape of it narrowed down what it was capable of being. 

you stared at the box, eyes moving up to look at george with uncertainty and hesitation swimming in them. he nodded, stretching his arm further in an attempt to have you grab the box from him. 

“he’d want you to have it.” he whispered, voice cracking as he allowed himself to remember that his brother had died mere hours ago. 

you reached for the box with a shaky hand, unsure if you’d want to know what was inside of the box. but you trusted georgie, so you took the box from him and sat in the chair pushed against the desk he just searched through. 

you flipped the box open, choking out a gasp and a strangled sob at the sight in front of you. 

the thin band was silver, given the fact that you’d spent an entire failed study session, ranting about how much you disliked gold jewelry. though fred would tease that it was because of your house, you’d ensure him that you had always hated gold jewelry. you claimed that silver complimented you more than gold ever could. 

the diamond was small, given his social standing and your endless reassurance that big diamonds were gaudy and ugly in comparison. you told him more times than you could count, that even if he had all the money in the world, you wanted a smaller diamond. 

it couldn’t have been a better ring if you had made it yourself. 

“he was going to give it to you after we graduated. he was scared you’d turn him down and call him crazy if he did it before then.” you let out a soft laugh, one that he returned with a confident smile. 

george watched you slide it onto your finger, tears pooling in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you stared at it with a longing look in your eyes. 

“maybe i should’ve waited-” he didn’t have a chance to finish before you were throwing yourself into his arms, your own locked around his neck tightly. 

“thank you, georgie.” you whispered soflty and pressed your lips to his cheek. “thank you for everything.” 

you got questions about the ring, choosing to ignore all of the insensitive ones and respond to the ones with pure intentions. you listened to molly gush about going to the shops with fred in search of that very ring. ginny would aimlessly twirl it around your finger at dinner in the great hall, claiming that it made her feel closer to fred. 

ron didn’t pay much mind to it, though he knew about the ring that sat int he bottom of his brother’s desk. he had teased him about it for months, despite fred barking back with the same comeback every single time. 

“you only wished you had someone like y/n.” 

george would never admit it to you, but the ring that always sat on your finger brought an uneasy feeling to him. it bothered him that he hadn’t been the one ot put it there, though he had been in a way. he loved the sight of the smile that stretched across your lips every time you looked down at it, but when that smile shifted up towards himself, he felt a weight lifting off of his shoulders. 

the day that the ring moved from your finger to a thin chain on your chest confused him. he had asked, but you shrugged, insisting that you couldn’t live a life that was built for a different universe. sure, it was the life you wanted for longer than you could remember, but you needed to build a new life for yourself, now.

a life that allowed the uneasy feeling in george’s stomach diffuse. a life that included george by your side through every moment, but not in the way he had been over the course of your time at hogwarts. 

a life that allowed george to put a ring on the same finger years later. suddenly, the ring that you often tucked into your shirts no longer bothered the boy. 

he knew you would always have a part of your heart reserved for fred, but so did he. 

perhaps you and fred were meant to be in a different dimension, in a different universe. the two of you had built something so beautiful, but this universe hadn’t been the one he was meant to be in. so for now, you would be able to live with the idea that maybe you and fred had been built for a different universe. 

perhaps this universe was meant for you and george. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

After

Warnings: noncon sex and some violence; blood.

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After the world fell into desolation, the Avengers split into factions. You are a medic in Thor’s settlement and find yourself called on to tend to a prisoner.

Note: This is pretty brutal so that’s a heads up right there in case you missed the warning above. Remember y’all, be safe, be healthy, take care of yourselves first. I’m always here for you, even if we never or rarely talk.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You weren’t supposed to be up on the third floor. Half the ceiling was on the floor and a tree branch littered the floor along with a scatter of debris. It was like a microcosm of what the world had become; broken and bleak.

From there you could see the gate but not much further. You watched the lookouts as they roused from their listless vigils and called to each other. The party was back and they were in a hurry. Trouble.

The Prince, the second-in-command, had been gone for two weeks. Scavenging, they said, but the settlement already had a stockpile of most of the goods to be found in the area. And the fields were healthy; much better than last year’s harvest. 

No one ever commented how the ‘scavengers’ returned with more weapons than they left with and a piece of two of clothing that didn’t belong to them. No one said anything because those who did ended up on the other side of the gates. It was better to live among the wolves than to be a part of the herd preyed upon.

You sighed and backed away from the gaping hole in the side of the medical center. You’d have to go back down, there would be work to do. You stopped as the gates opened. Something was different.

You stepped back up to the open wall and squinted across the distance. There were only three jeeps that drove through; they’d left with four. 

The Prince, Loki, climbed out. He was the only clean-shaven man in the settlement. He spoke briefly with the guard, Isaiah, then got back in the jeep stiffly. The trio of cars rumbled on and you backed away. Wounded, likely. You could tell easily by the way he moved.

You retreated and tramped heavily down the stairs. Doctor Coleman was still in surgery with Corette. A young girl had been rushed in with a bursting appendix. The other staff waded in and out of rooms with patients for the usual daily complaints; nothing too serious.

“Aleisha,” You stopped the head nurse of your fleet. Some had been nurses before and others had learned after out of necessity. Five years felt like more. “The prince has returned.”

“And?”

“Two weeks gone,” You said. “They will be coming here.”

“Alright,” She nodded and walked away. 

You shook your head at her and went to the front doors. You propped them open as Owen bent over the desk that acted as triage and jotted in a folder.

“Any updates on Dr. Coleman?” You asked as you crossed your arms and kept an ear to the doors.

“We’re low on anesthetic. They gave the girl whiskey. She woke up.” Owen grumbled. “It might take all day.”

“Shit,” You huffed as you heard motors on the next street. “Well, get ready.”

“Where’s Aleisha?” He asked.

“Another smoke break? Maybe just running away from all this,” You shrugged. “Can’t really blame her but there isn’t enough tobacco around to form an addiction.”

The first jeep pulled up, the second, and the third barely puttered at the rear. The trunk of the last was thrown open and two men ambled out with bloody rags around their arms. They helped another who was barely conscious and you waved to Owen.

“Front doors!” He yelled down the hall before he rushed out past you.

You went to follow him and the passenger side of the first jeep opened. You glanced back as several nurses appeared and the second car began to unload.

“Your doctor,” The prince held onto the door as he kept it open only a few inches.

“In surgery,” You said. “We can deal with this.”

“I don’t care about this,” He hissed as he rolled his eyes. “I need him to come with me.”

“It will be at least a couple hours.” You tried to step past him and he shot his foot out to trip you up. You stopped just before your feet tangled with his leg. “If it’s nothing serious--”

“Fine, you.” He said impatiently. “So long as you know how to use a needle, I suppose it’ll do.”

“Me, I… Aleisha is our--”

“Come on, I haven’t all day,” He growled. “Get in the back.” You stared at him dumbly. “Now.”

“I’ll need a kit,” You said.

“Don’t bother,” He sneered. “Get in.”

You looked around at the chaos of bodies and reached for the door. The Prince slammed the front one and you pulled the back open. You got in and closed the door.

You didn’t like it. Coleman was the only medical personnel permitted to see the king and his brother. The doctor said it was for the good of everyone.

You winced as you looked over to the passenger beside you. A man, barely, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He was thin and his reddish brown hair clung to his forehead. He was bound and slumped against the door. A stained cloth filled his mouth and a gash ran across his shoulder blade. You blanched and reached over to touch the dry blood.

“What happened to him?” You asked.

“His own fault,” The Prince said. “No more questions.”

You exhaled and drew away from the boy. You had nothing to help him but a pen in your front pocket and the knife clipped at your waist.

The jeep pulled up to the building they called the Palace. It used to be a bank and was one of the only buildings left untouched. You climbed out as the rest did and the man in the driver’s seat pulled the boy out with a grunt.

You were ushered to the doors and searched by the guards, ever-present on their watch. They took your knife but left you your pen. You followed behind Loki, his companion, and the injured boy. The latter was slung over the driver’s shoulder as you ascended the stairs and his pained groans echoed around you.

The door fell heavy behind you and you were led to a room. Loki muttered as he entered and directed his companion to set the boy down. You stood by the door.

“Go get my brother,” Loki ordered. “You,” He pointed at you, “See to the boy.”

“With what?” You asked as the other man left and the door snapped shut behind him.

Loki turned and opened a tall cabinet. He winced as he turned back with a tin chest in his hands. He dropped it beside the chair the boy slumped on. You neared as he traipsed away and knelt to open the kit.

“What’s your name?” You asked the wounded boy.

He stared at you a moment and reached to his shoulder. “Peter,” He grunted.

“No talking,” Loki fell onto the couch heavily and held in a groan. “Just sew him up.”

You pulled on a pair of gloves from the bottom of the chest and stood. You nudged the boy so that he sat forward and pulled apart his shirt, ripping it to expose his shoulder entirely. You bent to grab some gauze and the bottle of peroxide.

“How did this happen?” You asked quietly.

“What did I say about talking?” Loki snarled.

“I need to know if I should be looking for shrapnel,” You rebuffed.

He glanced over at your sharply and waved you away.

“I fell. Caught it on the edge of a wooden platform.” The boy explained as his hands formed fists.

“I’ll have to make sure there aren’t any slivers,” You warned as you wiped away the dried blood.

“Do what you gotta,” He kept his head down. “Doesn’t matter much.”

You were quiet at that. You knew what he wasn’t saying. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t going to leave here alive. The door opened as you tossed away a square of gauze and grabbed another.

“Brother!” The King, Thor, entered with a theatrical swish of his crimson cape. The swath of red was the reason for his nickname, well, aside from his insistence. “I was certain you’d lost yourself out there.”

The door shut loudly behind him as Loki shifted on the couch. He touched his hip as he struggled to sit straight. The King combed back his thick blond hair as the beads in his beard gave a subtle jangle as the brushed together.

“Lost? No, no, I found something… someone most valuable,” Loki smirked and peered over at Peter. 

Thor turned and you kept your eyes on your work. He looked over the boy and hovered at the edge of your vision.

“You ran into Stark’s men?” Thor said grimly.

“Some of them. They were getting awfully friendly with the Rogers clan.” Loki replied. “A precarious but dangerous alliance, wouldn’t you say?”

There was silence as you fished for your tweezers to dislodged a long sliver of wood. Peter yiped as you poked the metal into his torn flesh. You apologized under your breath and he nodded as he clamped his lips shut.

“I am sorry it has come to this,” Thor neared and pulled up another chair. He sat just on the other side of you as you tended to Peter. “I always did favour you.”

“Sure,” Peter scoffed. “You know, it’s not so easy to pretend to be decent these days.”

“Mercy is a form of decency,” Thor said coolly. “My brother did spare you.”

“And killed the rest. If I was anyone else, I’d be dead.”

“But you’re not,” Thor insisted.

You threaded the curved needle as you tried to fade into the tense air. You stood and focused on aligning it’s point. You pressed it to Peter’s flesh and he inhaled as if to acknowledge you. You pushed the metal through his skin and he gripped his knee.

“Or I could send the medic away. Let that rot,” Thor ventured. “I could do worse than this.”

“Like you did to Clint?” Peter rasped and slapped his leg as you continued. 

“The only mistake there was that Clint could not tell you all why I did it,” Thor sneered. “I am not cruel without reason.”

“Heh, sure. Whatever helps you look in the mirror.” Peter grumbled.

You tied up the last stitch and wiped the needle clean. You placed a patch of cotton over the cut and taped it down carefully. You packed up slowly. You thought of the limited supplies at the medical centre. You doubted this was the only treasure chest at the Palace.

You took off your gloves as you stood, the chest still open. You looked at Loki expectantly.

“Well, what do you want?” He snarled. “If you’re done, go.”

“Am I?” You asked calmly.

“What- You--”

“Your lower back. Or that’s what seems to be bothering you.” You said.

“Might be the perpetual stick up his ass,” Thor chuckled.

Loki inhaled deeply and winced. He shook his head and slid forward on the couch.

“Since you’re here.” He curled his fingers in a gesture for you to approach. “Be quick about it.”

You bent and lifted the chest. It was heavy. You set it by the couch and sat on the edge as he turned away from you. You lifted his thick jacket and the shirt beneath. A clean slice; it shouldn’t be causing too much pain, especially for him.

“Hmm,” You cleaned the cut and grabbed the largest band-aid from the smaller box. “Should heal on its own.”

“Told you.” Thor stood. “Stick. Ass. You don’t happen to know how to get it out?”

“Oh, quiet, you arse,” Loki hissed. 

You shoved the wrapper in your pocket as you clasped the chest shut  and stood.

“Castor oil is a natural laxative,” You offered. “But there’s not much to be had these days.”

Thor boomed with laughter and Loki straightened up with a pained breath.

“Just go,” Loki said.

“I’ll show you out,” Thor backed away and turned to open the door.

“Heimdall can--” Loki began.

“Nonsense, he’s busy.” Thor held the door and motioned you through. “I won’t be long. I am certain you can handle the boy on your own.”

You stepped out into the hall, eager to be away from both brothers. It wasn’t any secret that they had their differences, even with the state of things. Thor pulled the door closed behind him and nodded you along. He came up beside you, close enough that his cape swept against your shoulder.

“You work down at the medical center?” He asked.

“Mhmm,” You answered. It was more than obvious.

“You like it?” He peeked over at you out of the corner of his eye.

“People don’t really do what they like these days,” You said. “It’s gotta be done so I do it.”

“True, not all of us have the luxury of indulging in our desires,” He spun and stepped in front of you as you reached the door to the stairwell. “But some of us get to.”

You frowned as the air caught in your chest. He couldn’t mean…

“I have to get back. They’ll need me--”

“They can spare you for a while,” He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. “How’d you end up here?”

“What?” You blinked.

“Stark, Rogers, Romanoff…” He said. “How did you end up in this camp?”

“Most of us didn’t choose.” You shrugged. “Before this was a camp, I was just trying to help injured people and that’s all I do now.”

“I like watching those hands of yours. So deft, quick,” He pushed himself away from the door and pulled his cape straight. “I’ve an ailment myself I’ve been seeking relief for but you see, Doctor Coleman hasn’t the cure.”

You narrowed your eyes and took a step back. His blue eyes seemed to light up as he advanced.

“Okay…” You uttered as you continued your slow retreat.

“You see, this world is lonely and I’ve yet to find any comfort for that. Anything… effective.” His footsteps kept a steady pace as he closed in. “You think you could help me--”

You turned and raced back down the hall. There was another stairwell at the opposite end, if you could reach it, you might just--

He caught you swiftly. He grabbed the back of your shirt and wrenched you back so that you nearly fell on your ass. He turned and flung you so that you hit the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of you. 

You wheezed and struggled to stay upright as you turned back to him. You kicked out and he caught your foot. He pulled it up so that your other leg flew out from under you and your back hit the wall as you fell to the floor.

You coughed and turned onto your stomach as you lifted yourself onto your elbows. You crawled away from him, gasping for air, searching for the strength to stand.

His boot came down between your shoulder blades and he pushed you down onto your chest. The man who’d driven with Loki emerged from a door at the end of the hall. You looked up at him desperately.

“Loki is in his chamber,” Thor said gruffly as he leaned his weight on you. “Tell him I won’t be long.”

The man disappeared and Thor pushed down until you slapped the floor desperately. 

“You know,” He moved his foot so that his boots were on either side of you. “I’ve had women offer themselves for a loaf of bread and often nothing at all. Boring.”

You tried to lift yourself and he lowered himself to his knees to straddle you. He grabbed your shoulders and forced you entirely to your stomach.

“You come here a little later and these halls are… rampant with women. Money, that’s nothing. There are new commodities to be traded; fuel, food, flesh.”

“Stop, please,” You begged. “Please, I didn’t--”

“Oh, I know you didn’t do anything. Wouldn’t even look at me.” He rubbed your back as he wiggled his pelvis against you. “And when you did, there was no desperation, no hunger, no… reverence.”

His hands left your back and the red cape swept in front of you and piled on the floor. His fingers stretched over your hips and he squeezed.

“These women offer themselves because they know they owe me. For their safety, their lives. I had these walls built, I keep the generators going, and I keep worse fiends from sinking their fangs into you puny Midgardians.”

“I--I… Please.” You clawed at the floor.

“They’re so eager, so malleable, so… pathetic,” You wriggled beneath him as you kicked your legs. “And here you are, trapped, and you still try to get away. From what? I could give you a life easier than blood and bile.”

“Get… off!” You exclaimed as you tried to squirm out from beneath him.

“This is how this world works,” He lowered his voice as he leaned over you. He placed an arm across your shoulders as his other hand fumbled along the front of his pants. “You don’t ask, you take. And if you can’t take, you’re taken from.”

He sighed and his fingers hooked in the waist of your jeans. He tore them down, the button falling loose as he did. He ripped your panties down just as roughly and you felt his arousal rub against your ass.

“You can struggle, scream if you like but… if anyone hears you,” He guided his cock down your ass and rubbed against your cunt. “They’ll pretend they don’t.”

He forced himself inside of you and you cried out in pain. He impaled you to his limit and you gritted your teeth as his thick arm crushed your shoulders. He thrust so that your entire body jerked and your fingers buried in the heap of crimson fabric.

He sat back and planted a hand between your shoulders. He rocked atop you, groaning and growling as he did. You closed your eyes as the whimpers slipped from your lips. Every tilt of his hips was harder than the last. The clap of his flesh echoed down the hall and in your ears.

“I was wondering…” He panted in between ruts. “What that weaselly little doctor was hiding… from me.”

He pounded into you without pause. Your hips hit the hard floor painfully and you curled your arm around your head to hide your face. Your hot breath filled the space and mingled with the shame nestled in your cheeks.

His purrs rose to a growl and you felt as if your body would shatter. He lifted your hips as he plunged into you over and over. Your walls clenched around him and a warm gush flooded you.

Your head shot up as you tried once more to escape him.

“No…” You gasped.

“Shhh,” He jolted into you as he slowed. He stroked the back of your head and pushed it down to the floor. He bent over you and inhaled your scent. “It will be a king’s child.”

He slipped out of you and his cum leaked down your folds. He stood and let out a satisfied sigh.

“I have not given my seed to the others.” He said as he nudged you with his toe. “Clean yourself up, pet. My men have even less restraint than I.”

[1oserjk]

— pop goes the cherry

jungkook comes back home to find you visiting as well, all grown up — in more ways than one.

childhood friends / brother’s best friend au

+ this isn’t smut but alludes to the subject of it n the loss of virginity, so if u are uneasy wit the idea then pls!!/ refrain!1!1 

x masterlist

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“Will you calm down and just listen to what I have to say?” 

He’s teetering nervously back and forth in your way too pink bedroom you should’ve grown out of by now. Thankfully, you were visiting for a short amount of time before you’d go back to university to leave him in the dust for another few more years, just like the rest of the times you’d done it. He decided to stop by for a night, courtesy of your brother’s invitation that his little sister was back in town along with them. He mentioned adamantly about wanting the whole family together, which if you added everything up, Jungkook was—and still is—included in the whole ordeal. 

He was initially fine, perfectly normal as any other night at the Kim’s house. That was until he walked through the door and saw the face he’d tried to rid out of his head, since he graduated high school and fled to elsewhere, only moving back when you’d finally left home. Until you smiled at him and granted him a whiff of your irritatingly sweet perfume and your strawberry scented hair. Until you tugged on your low-cut dress that hit at the tops of your thighs to reveal an unnecessary amount of skin to him, because now all he could think about was if you really grew a cup size larger than the last time he’d seen you. 

He shouldn’t have been thinking these things in the first place when his best friend was just downstairs, probably assuming he’d taken a trip to the restroom, but here he was, in your bedroom with you who sat sweetly with your legs crossed atop each other in front of him. 

The room looks the same as a few years back, when he’d come up to knock on your door to announce that dinner was ready, by your mother’s orders. Instead, he’s here, actually inside, by your own asking of a private talk. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to ask such an absurd question. 

“Will you take my virginity?” 

He’s dumbfounded. Absolutely shocked that those crude words had come out of your mouth. It should’ve revolted him that he was being offered something he’d never do to your brother. Never ever. This was sick. 

So why did the offer only entice him further? He blamed it on the skirt of your dress that pooled around you when you sat. Or the way your doe eyes widened when you’d look up to gauge his reaction. He was waist-deep in the pool of attraction towards you. It was no hidden fact. Something in your eyes told him that you knew it too. 

“I—Can you elaborate on what you just said?” 

You shrug. “I just think it’s time to get it over with.” 

He would scream in rage of frustration if Taehyung wasn’t in the house, or here at all. The tops of his knuckles turn white in the insides of his grey sweats and his veins that snake around his arms protrude even further. It should’ve made you intimidated, a bit nervous over why he was acting like it was such a big deal but it only makes you rub your thighs together and bite at the corner of your lips. Especially when he stood there, practically towering over you and your small form. It was incomparable, you really should’ve been intimidated. But in the end, it was Jungkook who was. 

He timidly takes a seat on the small loveseat spaced out in the corner of your room. Enough for him to actually breathe and gain composure he lost in the beginning. He rests his forearms on the tops of his thighs and he thinks. 

Taking a deep breath in, he starts, “Virginity is a big thing to lose..” 

Your eyes roll back at the attempt of such an old man approach. “Don’t even try to back me out of this,” you huff. With a pout, you exasperate, “I mean, I’m already twenty-one! Don’t you think I deserve this?” 

He tinkers with the thought, “I get that, but it doesn’t make sense over why you’re choosing me to do the deed.” The palms of his hands are splayed out in front of him, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Jungkook,” you promise. “No one is pressuring you to. But I don’t think you realize that I have the capability to choose whoever I want. I’m choosing you for a reason.” 

Soon enough, something snaps in him to face the reality of the stupidity in this conversation. “I’m glad you see me as a great candidate,” he drips with sarcasm. “But I’m your brother's best friend. I’ve been his best friend since I moved in the next street over when I was five.” 

You shrug again, “—So?” 

He glares, feigning cluelessness while he lists off, “Well I don’t know, it’s not something your brother has to lay out for me to know that you’re not allowed to be touched and flirted with. It’s common sense and decency,” he exasperates. “In what sense would it be morally right to fuck you?” 

“That’s the problem!” You point. You crawl up on the bed to sit comfortably with your feet tucked under your thighs. A teasing pose you were clueless to note. “I’ve been so deprived from new experiences and feelings Jungkook, it’s absolutely tiring,” you groan. Your fingertips run through your hair and it ruffles messily below your palm. Jungkook takes a long and hard swallow to cope with the stir in his pants. He avoids your gaze when you stare longingly at him. 

“Do you remember our time in highschool?” You suddenly ask, and his eyes flutter before shifting precariously to your door, anxious for anybody to knock or even worse—stomp into the room with no warning, something your brother was highly prone to do. When his eyes land back onto you, he nods slowly and carefully. “You were in varsity along with my brother while I had just passed the auditions for a new spot in the junior varsity cheerleading team,” you further explain and his left foot starts to bounce, fingers tightening on the handle of the cushioned chair. Of course he remembers, what with taking up some of the field for practice, running around the track with skimpy shorts, eyes already on you when you would wear the mandatory skirts on game days. God, he remembers so clearly, as if it was just yesterday. “And you had your farewell game as a senior?” 

Throat tightening while his eyes widened, only remembering a sliver of what happened right after, when the team had taken their final win for the season. 

Tongue coming out from the corner of your mouth to skim across your lips, your head tilts, almost teasingly when you hand him a small smile. “Do you remember, Jungkook? When I ran up to you and—“

“—kissed me,” he finishes off, and your eyes show surprise when he does. 

Covering up your slight satisfaction when he reiterates the memorable moment, right before a few months later when he left the town in such a rush. Frankly, you’re quite delighted that he remembered some of the last moments between the two of you. You attempt to keep your cool and the growing grin when you scoff. “On the cheek,” you correct with a shrug. “It was probably nothing to you.” 

“But it was still a kiss,” he argues, “And it was from you in the end.” 

“Did you like it?” It’s abrupt and rushed, but your feelings were urgent to know. After all these years. “Did you feel anything for me at that time?” 

His mouth opens, yet nothing comes out. He closes it back up to think some more, let the right words filter out before he regrets anything. He would be mortified if you were able to pick out his feelings for you, that he failed to stop thinking about you ever since he stepped foot out of this house and never turned back. That he reciprocates the same overwhelmingly long crush you’ve had on him ever since Taehyung had introduced you both to each other. 

“I was thankful,” he simply answers. “Glad that I had you along with Taehyung. I appreciate you both.” 

It’s a fair enough answer to reel back and to stop mulling it over for a while. At least until he’s gone and you have all night to recall back your conversation of tonight. 

He’s so close yet so far away to grasp, so you ask, “Do you know what it’s like to never know the feeling of being touched, Jungkook?” 

He takes an interest at the ground, avoiding to give you a valid answer. 

You scoff, tilting your head to the side to narrow in at his face, “Of course you don’t. You lost your virginity years ago to Park Chaeyoung,” you spit. His eyes widen significantly. How would you have known? “Right inside of your room while I waited for you downstairs..” 

His brows furrow, “I—How?” 

Again, you shrugged carelessly. “You were supposed to tutor me that day. I figured you were taking longer to get ready. Until I heard her, and then you.” Your nose scrunches and for a second you let your vulnerability show, a flash of hurt from the memory of walking into the familiar house, finding and hearing out your newfound nightmare and what was the worst case scenario for you to experience. Your head shifts down and you begin to fiddle with your fingers unsurely. “I showed myself out the door when I realized where I was and what I was doing.” 

That was right. He had just taken her out after practice to a crummy restaurant and back to his place. He figured he’d do it before his parents got home from work and thought he’d manage to squeeze it before you arrive for your lessons that he volunteered himself for, plainly because he felt you slipping from his fingers when you began your own trek to highschool. He felt like he was the absolute shittiest when he ran a few minutes late only to get a call from Taehyung that you felt too sick to study anything that day. Little did he know you were sobbing yourself goodnight into your pillow. 

The tables have definitely turned now. The bed was your throne and you sat there perfectly composed — something you weren’t a few years back. If anything, if jungkook hadn't been sitting like he was now, his knees would’ve buckled beneath him to fall to his downturned fate and humiliation. 

“Don’t think that was it, gguk,” you test. “I sat patiently with all of your other pathetic relationships right after.” Your nails pick at the bedding beneath you, right in the middle of your parted thighs, a place he’d like to put his head in between. “You went through a lot of them.. And fucked for most of it too,” you chuckle bitterly. 

He watches you slowly crawl at the edge again, fingers digging into the mattress. You can’t help but take notice at the dark chocolate locks placed perfectly at the front of his forehead. 

“Swear it was like,” you took time to think, and with a pout you continue, “once you found out how to work your dick, you forgot all about me and left me in the dust.” 

He stares dangerously ahead to find you teasing with a smile, like the she-devil you quickly became. 

“No fair, Jungkook,” you tsk. “I’m a big girl now.” You wiggle your hips with a giggle. To get him driven to want you—no—need you. To see what he’s been missing all these years. Murmuring hazily, you prompt, “Don’t you think it’s my turn now?”

He stands abruptly, clearing his throat that ran dry, “Isn’t this shit supposed to be meaningful to you? With a person you love and care for?” 

Your eyebrow raises, “Was it meaningful with Chaeyoung?” He’s silent. Clapping your hands, you conclude with a sinister smile, “Well then, I think you’ve given me my answer.” 

“Why me?” He questions.

Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair that has grown a few inches longer the last time you saw him. Fuck, you were pretty. He’s noticed it growing up, and he’s paying the repercussions of it now. “I don’t know, Gguk.. I want to get this thing I have for you out of my system already.” It was an easier thing to confess when it’s been already a few years to grieve on his absence, a bit impatient from having to drag on the secret you’ve held so near and dear to your heart and scratched into every diary you used to own in your teenage years. Thinking of those, you’ve realized you have been meaning to burn the stash of books under your desk in some time. You make a mental note of that for later. “I figured you owe me this for abandoning me a few years back. I want to have a taste so I can stop these cravings I get so often these days.” 

The childish heartbreak runs deeper than that, but you save him the gory details for later—or never. 

His throat restricts itself to give an answer but his cock twitches, failing his belief to tell you that he would never go that route to bestow such havoc to your own brother — his best friend. Why didn’t you see any of that?

You click your tongue, observing the older boy squirm in his seat. “Your hands are starting to get fidgety.” Nodding in confirmation, you slide your legs over to sit regularly. A few seconds before you’d make the move of making your own seat on the same spot he had been nervously planted himself at, what was supposed to be a safe distance away from you in the first place. 

God, he was so easy to read sometimes. 

He makes a fist, ridding them from your view. The tip of his ears run red and he flusteredly looks away. 

“You never answered my question,” you taunt. 

Exasperatedly, he answers, “Because I don’t think it’s much of a good idea.” 

Sighing begrudgingly, you make your advancement towards him. “Jungkook,” Your tone was dipped in honey, stirred around to further the smoothness to it, causing it to make it easier for you to persuade him into the light of all things bad. “That’s not what I asked.” 

Now standing in front of him, he has no choice but to look up with a million questions surrounding his head. You precisely slide a knee to the outside of his left thigh and a hand to the opposite shoulder to meld support. You almost catch off balance when you lean further into him. It traps him into grabbing at your hip to steady you. You have him exactly where you needed him most and you don’t even realize it. 

You’re already seated on top of him and he starts to sputter for you to get off, especially when you sat so preciously on top of the overwhelming bulge he holds so distinctly. 

“W-What are you doing?” He pushes for you to move but you cling both hands on his shoulders to balance the sudden movements from him being underneath. 

“Call this an act of bonding.” You massage on his shoulders to relax him and it visibly shows when they start to loosen under your grip. “I haven’t seen you in a while, it’s only understandable.” You shrug. “Why are you so iffy about it now? We always did this when we were younger.” 

“Yes, when we were younger. When there was no space in the car or an extra chair to sit on—platonically. We’re adults now, _____,” he emphasizes. 

“Which makes it all the more better,” you ease with a smile he melts at. “Because our choices aren’t ran on our mindlessness we used to hold when we were younger,” you shift around and he hisses, “and we can clearly pick out our feelings.” You lean forward, eyes narrowing, letting your hair fall around him, resembling a curtain and covering up the brush of your noses from the suffocating proximity you hold. “So why don’t you make it easier for the both of us—scratch my back while I scratch yours—and tell me exactly what you want.” You ground down and he gasps. “What I’m willing to give.” 

“_-_____,” he mutters, pinching at your hip. You hiss and release a bit, your signature pout forming right after. “Are you asking for your brother to catch us like this?” He scolds. 

Then, you’re suddenly gone. 

You're quick to get up with a huff, even when his hands argue otherwise, practically tugging you forward and down, you ignore it and whip around to return back to the bed draped in the different shades of pink you’ve accumulated over the years. 

“What a tough cookie,” you sarcastically mutter to yourself, plopping your ass back onto the bed and returning to the same pose you held just a few minutes ago. “Not a fun one either,” you state for him to hear clearly, observing him stand and walk forward from your peripheral. 

He sighs. “Don’t be mad at me.” 

“I’ve been mad at you ever since you left, Gguk,” you admit easily and with your eyes, it lures him to hold an expression of guilt when he catches you so sad from the reminder of it, wondering if this was what it was like the whole time he was gone after that. 

It hurts him—and it must’ve been even worse for you. 

“I missed you.” He hopes you take it as a form of an apology. “Would’ve been worse if I stayed—If I did something to hurt your brother really badly.” He shudders at the mere thought of it. 

“Just.. Let’s not talk about him right now?” You reason. “Kind’ve tired of hearing about the bastard that’s stopping me from receiving any kind of action from you right now.”

He snorts and he’s close enough to tilt your chin upwards. “Hey,” he calls. “He loves you.” 

You lean back to let your ass meet the bed with your thighs on each side of you. Sighing, you nod, “I know.” 

He doesn’t loosen his grip. 

“Look,” you start. “It’s not like I’m asking you to light some candles and be gentle. I just want it gone. Take it away. I don’t care if you stick it in, finish, and roll over. I just want to get this over with.” 

He scowls and lets his brows furrow together, “Is that all you think of when it comes to sex? Just some time to pass by? To give and that’s it?” 

“I’m not left with a lot of theories after being declined from it for so long,” you reason. 

He stares at you longingly and you grow antsy when his hands that cradle your cheeks never leave their gentle touch, you wonder if it would be this soft when you would be in bed with him. 

“I’m leaving again in a few days,” he abruptly announces and your frail fingers that are wrapped around his wrists loosen significantly. Your eyes widen and you backtrack completely. 

“Again?” 

He only nods. 

Your eyes unknowingly well up and you close in on yourself immediately, alarmed at the fact you have shown your true self to the one person you’ve longed for the most and for such a cost that doesn’t even benefit you in the end. You rip his hands away from you, almost like a band-aid that’s been clinging onto you for a few long days now, turning gross and dirty and you hate it—absolutely hate the way he openly plays you to run into a deceiving mirage, that everything would be okay when he would come back. 

He calls for your name, yet you don’t listen. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. “I—I figured your brother would tell you when I came. I’m only here to get a few things before I would leave again.” 

Your eyes flutter closed and you shift your head, refusing to let him see the way you crumble, especially when he practically towers over you when he doesn’t even mean to. 

“I can’t—I won’t take something that’s supposed to be special and just leave,” he explains, heart panging when you don’t lift your head. “Please understand me,” he begs. 

“Leave,” is all you manage to mutter out. “Please, get out.” 

“_____..” He attempts to lift his hand out to touch you again, but you turn away and refuse, only leaving him to be hurt by the action. 

“Tell Taehyung I’ll be down in a minute,” then you glare at him, “Because that’s what you came here for, right? To tell me dinner is ready?” 

“I-I..” Nothing else comes out, so he only nods to save him from making anymore mistakes. 

You let out a small laugh, it cracks in between, but the facade is still there. “I think it’s the fact that If I didn’t tell you the way I felt, if I didn’t sit you down to tell you myself that I want you and make an absolute fool out of myself like this — you probably would’ve never spoken for yourself..” 

He falters, close to arguing until you repeat yourself all over again, hurt and annoyed, “Get out, Jungkook.” 

He reluctantly obliges, shutting the door closed and ignoring the thump that hits the door right after, one of your pillows hitting against the surface while you pathetically sit in the middle of your room with tears running down your eyes so pathetically and to your own humiliation to bask in. 

-

Taehyung’s brows furrow and he stands in the middle of his parent’s backyard porch with utter shock. It’s close to two in the morning and he’s tipsy. “You’re leaving early? We just got here.” 

It’s a long gulp from his own bottle. “Yeah.” He utters some bullshit about his work and how they want him back sooner. Of course, Taehyung never presses, believing in every word that comes out of his mouth. In a lot of ways, you were both so similar. He doesn’t mention the abrupt confrontation that only happened several hours ago, nor the fallout of it either. 

“That sucks,” Taehyung says, “You were the one to suggest coming back home.” 

“Yeah.” He gulps the rest down and it burns this time. Midway he only realizes he traded out the beer bottle for the cheap vodka when he previously reached his hand out for another. He stops when the face that takes up most of his mind starts to dissipate into something blurry and lacking definition. 

This way, it’s easier. 

“I did,” is all he replies with. 

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this was a 1k drabble from my old blog so i cleaned it up n added 2k+ words to it!/!/ i wanted to revive it bc she’s so memorable to me

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